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talltalesandbedtimestories · 7 months ago

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Wash. RINSE. Repeat. - Dean x Reader/OFC

"Rinse" is Part 3 of the Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader/OFC

Tags: Canon-compliant (or trying to be), Season 3, Lots of Angst, Demon Assault/Attempted Sexual Assault (trigger), Show Level Gore/Violence, Language, Pining, Dean is infuriating at times, Sam is the sweetest, Main character death (offscreen; but, it's Supernatural, so you know, it's probably not sticking)

Word Count: 15,000

Summary: The boys stink. Something needs to be done about it.

The above summary was something I came up with when I thought this was going to be a fun little one shot. (hah! stupid writer and her stupid assumptions. how dare she think she can make plans and have Sam and Dean adhere to them.) It still applies to the beginning (and this sniff, sniff theme may come up again) but I'm going to add that this story is a first person reader insert that weaves in and out of show canon.

"Rinse" won't make a lick of sense if you haven't read the other parts. If you want to read the previous installments, you can find them on AO3 -- WASH -- PRE-RINSE

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Friends Becoming Strangers" square.

A huge thanks to @jacklesversebingo for allowing me to use one of my bingo squares in a part of a story I was currently working on. These bingo prompts have genuinely tested my creativity and provided some meaty plot twists. Thank you, thank you!

Rinse

~ Six Months Later ~

I bolt upright in bed, mid-gasp.

My heart pounds. Flashes of what caused my pulse to race appear in the curtain call of each blink.

Bobby. In the dark with a flashlight. In his house? Sneaking around, like he’s investigating an unfamiliar place. Then, he was attacked by something. Thrown to the floor in his kitchen. A blur of arms clawing. A screeching sound that wasn’t human.

What the hell? I shake the shiver out of my spine and glance over at the alarm clock. Fifteen minutes before it goes off. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep. I resign myself to get out of bed and start the day.

It’s gonna be a busy one at Hoyt and Hagan. There are two client appointments on the calendar. I’ve got some note taking during and transcribing to do after each of them.

I debate with myself in the shower as to when I should check on Bobby. It’s still too early and he’ll only scoff in my ear at the unnecessary concern.

I decide I’ll call him during my lunch break, all nonchalant like. Hey Bobby, it’s your favorite psychic nut job, poking out of hunter hibernation for some updates.

Just to be sure he’s okay.

I grab a slice and a soda at Tony’s Pizza Parlor for lunch. The four block walk gives me a chance to stretch my legs and see if they’ll be short staffed over the next week. I need to bulk up my car maintenance fund. According to Nate at Carl’s Auto Shop, I will probably need to replace the brake pads in a few months. Before the squeaks turn into screeches at every stop.

Gary’s working the counter. I try not to fuss with my hair too much in his presence. His dimples drill into his cheeks with a bright smile. My stomach spins like it’s in a washing machine. I ask him how his Aunt Cheryl is doing. The swoony, sensitive six footer moved back to Matamoras when his only living relative, Cheryl Somers, fell ill and couldn’t take care of herself anymore.

It’s been five months since Gary arrived and became ubiquitous around this tiny town where you only have to breathe heavily to become the subject of juicy gossip. He works a variety of service jobs. I’m blessed that one of them is at Tony’s. My random shifts have intersected with his on occasion. I am also cursed because I still haven’t gotten the nerve to get past simple pleasantries. Mainly I worry I’ll slip about my personal details or he’ll ask me a question about my family. And, I’ll have to lie. Because he’d never believe the truth. The people that would understand are just as damaged as I am.

Playing at normal is tough.

I scoot into a booth that has a nice vantage of the counter so I can spy on Gary. I pry the greasy pepperoni one by one from the stringy mozzarella. The deconstruction exercise prolongs my excuse to hang around with my solitary slice. I mindfully chew. Taste buds light up with oregano, tomato sauce, processed toppings, and velvety cheese.

The one brain cell not focused on Gary reminds me about Bobby. I dab at my face with a one-ply scratchy napkin, then tap in the start of a phone number I know by heart on my cell. Bobby’s name appears from my contacts after the fifth digit.

I’m still miffed about Garth accidently dropping my old phone in the depths of the Delaware when he visited six months back. He felt so bad he drove me to the nearest cell phone store and bought me a new one right on the spot. He got me a newer and nicer model. It didn’t make up for all the contacts and messages I lost, though. It took me weeks to connect with almost everyone I could remember.

I wait for Bobby to pick up. It rings. And rings. And rings. The voicemail answers. “You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I know what to do, but I hang up instead. I’m that person that hits redial and gives it another try. Bobby is prone to leaving his cell phone atop a stack of books or on the kitchen counter as he hops from room to room. So, there’s a chance he might…

“You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I sigh and collect my words. “Hey, Bobby. It’s been a bit. Wanted to see how you’re doing. Nothing much new on this end. Give me a call, though, soon. Yeah? Been told my car’s gonna need new brake pads. Wanna make sure I’m not getting hosed on the cost to replace them. Okay? Thanks. Bye.”

“Who’s Bobby?” The voice drifts over my shoulder from behind me.

Oh God. Gary’s asking that question. I’m gonna have to turn and actually make eye contact and answer. I swallow and rotate in the booth a bit. He’s wiping down the table, tray filled with trash in his grasp. Wavy jet black bangs obscure his eyes for a brief second. It’s not enough time before his onyx irises gaze with interest in my direction.

“Huh?” I pretend I didn’t hear him.

“Who’s Bobby? He’s not the only guy that knows a thing or two about cars.” His smile is bright. “I could probably help you out. Take a look.”

“Oh.” I want to bang my head into the table to shake out any words that are longer than one syllable. “That’s… that’s…”

“He family? Bobby?” Gary stands beside my booth now.

“Yeah.”

Gary nods. “Well, offer’s available if you need it.” Someone, maybe Maribel, shouts his name across the restaurant. “Good luck.” He darts away.

“Thanks.” I groan at my suave communication skills.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

Dean sat at Bobby’s hospital bedside.

It’d only been a couple days since he got the call. A doctor had been looking for a Mr. Snyderson.

Bobby enjoyed informing Dean years ago of the name he would have to answer to if he received a call from someone in search of Bobby Singer’s emergency contact.

“How the hell’d you get yourself into this mess, Bobby?” he asked aloud.

Dean wondered if Bobby had picked the name Edgar Snyderson so that would be all John’s eldest son would focus on. Not the fact that if he ever heard it uttered by anyone else, it would be because Bobby wouldn’t be able to call him a numbnut or an idjit.

Sam was due back any minute. Dean’d tasked Sam with the research part of this mystery, which included combing through the collage of pictures and news clippings hidden on the back closet wall in Bobby’s hotel room.

The room where his comatose body had been found.

Dean had gone to the university to dig up any information on a Dr. Walter Gregg, whose obit had graced Bobby’s case board. Finding out about unapproved dream studies led to the name of a test subject, Jeremy Frost. The college kid made it clear the doctor had been playing fast and loose with his research and the people involved. That equalled a whole lot of potential enemies and nefarious insinuators. Bobby was probably close to figuring out who the murderer was.

The machines whirred and beeped around the man he’d bet his life on, if he had much left of it to wager.

Dean was shy of six months before his demon bill came due.

“I don’t need you rolling out the red carpet for me in the hereafter. Pretty sure you ain’t gonna be taking a sauna or walking over raked coals. But we don’t need you practicing your harp skills anytime soon, either.” He bit his tongue at the name that almost slipped out. He tried not to mention her if he could help it. The more time went on, the more he hoped it would stick; his nonexistence for her. “It’d kill her if something happened to you.” He nodded to no one. “We’ll figure this out.”

As if on cue, his studious brother entered the room. “How is he?”

“No change.” Dean wiped a hand over his face and stood to meet Sam by the tray table at the edge of the bed. “What you got?”

“Well, considering what you told me about the Doc’s experiments, Bobby’s wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense.”

“How so?”

“This plant, Silene Capensis, also known as African Dream Root, it’s been used by shamans and medicine men for centuries.”

“Let me guess – they dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, and start kicking around the hacky.”

Sam scoffed. “Not quite. If you believe the legends, it’s used for dream walking. I mean entering another person’s dreams, poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends.”

“When don’t we? But dream-walking is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with enough practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good. You could turn good dreams bad.”

“And killing people in their sleep.” Dean added the obvious.

“For example. So, let’s say this doc was testing the stuff on his patients Tim Leary-Style.”

“Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby? I mean if the killer came after him, how come he’s still alive?”

They both stared at Bobby.

“I don’t know.” Dean tapped Sam in the middle of his chest. “Come on. Man needs as much beauty rest as he can get before we wake him. And a kiss on the lips better not end up being the cure.” He strolled to the doorway and turned back in time to see Sam making his way to Bobby’s side.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve ever had to do to save someone.” Sam chided in a soft whisper over his shoulder towards Dean. “Stay strong until we can figure this out, Bobby.” His gigantor hand gripped Bobby’s pale one.

Dean marched out into the hallway in wait. Something heavy lodged in the base of Dean’s throat. He swallowed but the fear wouldn’t loosen. The possibility of losing Bobby. The memories of his father in the hospital right before he died kept rising to the surface. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Sam finally joined him. They walked down the hall towards the nurse’s station and the elevators. Their steps got into that synced soldier rhythm they easily fell into often. Dean wished it would continue in silence. But out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sam’s mouth open and close. Trying out the lines in his head before he’d have to share what he was thinking.

With that much thought, Dean knew it wasn’t going to be anything good.

When it was only the two of them in the elevator going down, Sam spoke. “Am I gonna have to be the one that mentions the elephant in the room?”

Dean’s gaze lifted to the ceiling. He sighed.

“We gotta call her, Dean.”

“No. We don’t. We’re gonna handle it so she doesn’t have to ever know what kind of danger Bobby was in.”

“She deserves to know,” Sam mumbled. “Bobby’s important to her. Plus, all of this dream stuff…”

“Sam,” Dean started.

Sam got his hands and arms in the conversation now, waving them about. “She should be here!”

“No!” Dean huffed, raising his voice back at Sam. He glanced at the number display. “I still need to work this case with you. I shouldn’t even be in the same state as her, let alone the same room. We can’t risk that, Sam. Not again.”

“You of all people know what she’s capable of. She could get into Bobby’s head.”

“Yeah. You know it. I know it. Bobby knows it. But, as far as we know, Elena doesn’t. As long as she doesn’t remember me, she won’t be doing any ‘Wonder Twins, Activate’ shit. And we’re gonna keep it that way.”

“Dean!”

“No. Bobby’s been onboard with the plan, all of it, for the past six months. Last I checked, you were, too.”

“Not like you gave any of us a choice.” Sam snarked.

Dean ignored the jab. “Bobby’d want us to exhaust every other option before we pull her into something like this. Again.” He pointed at the floor as the door’s slid open. “We find another way.” He waved a hand for Sam to exit first. “Let’s go, Sherlock.” They covered the distance quickly to another set of double doors. “So, how do we find our homicidal little sandman?”

“It could be anyone.” Sam stated, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

Dean rattled off possible suspects. “Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms.”

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?”

“Possible, but his research is pretty sketchy. I mean, we don’t know how many subjects he had or who all of them were.”

Sam scoffed.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, long and deep. “In any other case, we’d be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean halted, pulled at Sam’s forearm to stop his brother’s stride. “Know what? You’re right.”

“What?”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

“Sure. I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided.”

“Not if we’re tripping on some Dream Root.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

~~~~

There’s been no response from Bobby by the end of my work day.

Something was up. A car question always ensured Bobby would return a call within hours.

I call the other hunter who knows almost everyone’s business as much as Bobby does.

“Elle Woods.” Garth coos his nickname for me. I still don’t get how he made the connection between me and the fictional main character in Legally Blonde. “How’re you doin? To what do I owe this honor?”

“Hey, Garth. I’m trying to get a hold of Bobby. He’s not answering my calls.”

“Oh?” The one syllable expresses confusion.

“Yeah.”

“When’d you last talk to him?”

“It’s been about a month.” My face warms at the confession.

“Oh.” The one syllable is laced with judgment.

I let the guilt was over me as I wait.

“Hm. Well, I had to call him about a case I worked in Baton Rouge, Louisiana last week. There was this circus in town and a murder pinned on one of the performers. Killer clowns couldn’t turn their victims into a pile of green goo last I checked.” Garth chuckles.

I veer the conversation back. “Was he okay? Everything good at the salvage yard?”

“Oh, well, he wasn’t home. Was working his own case.”

My skin tingles at the news. It’s not surprising to hear. Bobby hunts on occasion. It’s more the reminder of the dream I had of him that morning that puts me on edge. “Where was he?”

Garth sighs. “If memory serves right, he was investigating something that happened at a university in, I think, Pittsburgh.”

“Okay, thanks Garth.”

“Sure thing, sweets. Want me to try and check in on him, too?”

I smile. “Appreciate it.”

“I’ll tell him to call you ASAP if I make contact.”

“Thanks.”

“No problemo.”

“Talk soon.”

I hang up. Pittsburgh. It’s clear across in western Pennsylvania. A good six-hour drive from me. Couldn’t be any farther from Matamoras and in the same state. It makes sense he wouldn’t bother to call me. Not like he could do a quick pop in.

Still.

I click my teeth. Moments later, I’m clicking away at the keyboard, searching anything weird over the wire that matches what Garth told me. Only one news headline has me screaming Yahtzee in my head. There’s mention of a university neurologist dying in his sleep. Cause: Unknown.

It’s not much. But, it would catch Bobby’s eye. And he’d do some digging. So, I do the same. The neurologist was the research head of a large, ongoing sleep study. And, another article hints that his death may have been the result of foul play.

I then do what Bobby always suggests I do when I can’t get a hold of him and he’s off on a case somewhere. I contact hospitals in the area.

By the third phone call, I’ve found him. All I can get out of the medical staff is that he’s unresponsive and been in their care for a few days.

An hour later, I’m on I-80, headed to Pittsburgh.

My brakes are squeaking big time.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

My driver’s license (fake) gets me the information I need at the hospital. Next of kin and all that. A doctor runs through the updates on Bobby’s current medical state while we stand at the nurse’s station. It's good news. Bobby woke up a few hours ago.

The doc questions why I wasn’t listed as an emergency contact. He mentions that they had to call a Mr. Snyderson instead. I shrug, rattling off that my Dad probably doesn’t think I know how to manage an emergency.

I wonder who the hell Mr. Snyderson is as I get Bobby’s room number and am pointed in the direction to find it. Mainly I’m relieved that the closest thing I have to family - that hasn’t disowned me - is conscious and doing fine by all accounts.

I don’t even need to check the number, hearing Bobby’s voice drift out into the hall from a room just up ahead on the right. “We better work fast… and coffee up. ‘Cause the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

I take a cautious step in and prepare to meet “Mr. Snyderson.” A very tall figure with expansive shoulders stands at the side of Bobby’s bed. His broad back is to the doorway. It’s the moppy head of hair that I recognize first. My brain swims with sudden knowledge and memory. I feel overwhelmed and a bit lightheaded.

Sam. Sam Winchester. A hunt. We worked a hunt together a couple years ago. Road tripped from Maine to California. I even remember spending some time with him at Bobby’s after a car accident he’d been in with his dad. I’m also struck with the fact that he lost his dad. The scattered moments don’t have any connective tissue that I can discern. They catch my attention like twinkling ornaments atop a Christmas tree. Each represents some commemorative event I need to be reminded of.

Bobby sees me in the doorway. His face runs a litany of emotions. Serious to surprised. Welcoming to worried. “L.” He whispers.

I smile. Sam spins. His rotation hints at the shape of someone sitting on the other side of Bobby’s bed. Sam settles with a stare at me and walls off the stranger for the time being.

Sam’s as cute as I remember. There’s a bit more mass to him. And then, I remember us bonding over his psychic abilities. It’s disorienting, the flashes and pops of life bursting out of hibernation.

“L?” Bobby asks. “You doin’ alright there, kid?”

I shake my head and manage a smile again. “Considering I’m visiting you in the hospital, don’t you think I should be the one asking that question?” I hesitate at the awkward glances Sam and Bobby shoot each other. I flap my hands at my sides. “Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Been a while.”

His eyes bug. “H-Hey Elina. Yeah. I’m, I’m doin’ pretty well.” A hand scratches the side of his neck. “How’s things in Matamoras?”

“Good. Doing my best to stay out of trouble.” I point a finger at him. “Are you Mr. Snyderson, who got the call about Bobby instead of me?”

“That’d be me.” There’s a terse answer from the other side of the room. The figure is still hidden by Sam. A scrape of chair legs follows.

Sam swallows. Hard. He steps to the side.

My gaze lands on a pair of bright green eyes staring back. The guy is male model attractive. My skin warms up in a reflexive response to all that pretty. “You can call me Dean, though.” He smirks.

“Dean?” The name registers instantly. “Sam’s brother?”

He nods and puffs his chest out. I can’t quite tell if it’s a smug posture or if he’s donning some invisible protective armor.

“He-” I start to fill the gaps in my mind as my mouth reveals the facts. “Sam’s mentioned you.” Older brother. Cocky. Pain in the ass. Overbearing.

I don’t get a response in return. Instead, Dean turns to Bobby. “We’ll touch base if we hear anything else.” He rounds the edge of the hospital bed and taps Sam on the arm. All I get is a quick nod from Dean before he disappears.

“See ya.” Sam smiles, lips scrunched tight. He stumbles past me out of the room, following his older, shorter brother.

Yeah, I’ve met my share of guys like that before. Bad boys have never done me any favors. Way more trouble than they’re worth. I keep reminding myself of that as I catch one last glimpse of Dean Winchester in the hallway before Sam shuts the door behind him.

When it’s only the two of us, I hurry over and give the old man a careful embrace. He taps my back in assurance. “I’m fine.”

I peel away and stand to squint at him. “Let me guess? Fine enough to hop back into solving whatever caused this.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Why can’t you fall back asleep? And why does that Dean dude rank as your emergency contact?”

He squints back at me. “The Winchester boys are family, too, L.”

“Sam’s what you’d call an absolute peach, Bobby, I’ll give you that. But, I don’t have any firsthand experience with Dean to make a judgment call.”

“Hm.” Bobby nods slowly. “Could’ve sworn you’ve met both of them.”

“Nope.” I definitely would have remembered Dean Winchester.

~~~~

I knock on the door to Bobby’s room at The Aviary Hotel.

There’s a delay. I can hear some cursing and arguing as I wait. The taller squatter opens the door part way in greeting. “El.” Sam smiles.

“Hi.”

“Everything alright?” A hand stuffs into a pocket and he leans against the door, filling up the space.

“Bobby’s probably getting released tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great news.”

“It is. I figured I’d grab him some clean clothes for his discharge.” I sweep a hand towards him. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh…” Sam stammers.

“For chrissakes.” Dean’s voice interrupts. An arm pushes Sam back into the room and out of the way. Dean grimaces at Sam before giving me a dose of all that attitude. “Listen, Elena, it’s great that you’ve decided to come all this way and play nursemaid. But, we’ve got actual case work to do. So, would you make it quick?”

I blink at the condescending tone. Bobby filled me in on the details back at the hospital. I had felt a little sympathy at the predicament Dean has found himself in. HAD. “Oh, of course. Certainly don’t want to interfere with all your great case work. Is there another suspect you need to give a DNA sample to?”

Dean’s irritation crumbles. He looks like a shamed puppy that’s peed on the carpet.

“Don’t mind him, El.” Sam pulls the door all the way open. “We’re all a little high strung at the moment.”

I scoot in between the brothers. The room’s wallpaper is a feathery explosion in blues, greens and yellows. “Well, the decor isn’t going to help calm anyone down,” I critique.

Dean flops in a sad looking armchair and grabs sheets of paper on a nearby side table to study with intense interest.

Hospitality must be Dean Winchester’s middle name.

“Get you something to drink?” Sam strolls by Dean, backhanding Dean’s bicep along the way. Dean pays him no mind.

I wave a hand. “Nope. Just point me in the direction of Bobby’s stuff and I’ll be out of here.”

Sam offers a soft smile in apology and gestures to a set of louvered bifold doors. The room is crazy huge. A full kitchen and another door that must lead to the bathroom make up the other half. There’s a desk on this side of the living area. More papers litter its surface, along with a laptop that I recognize as Sam’s (various stickers are slapped on top).

Yep, the brothers have made themselves at home. The double beds have been slept in by the state of the sheets. I smell greasy fast food.

When I open the closet, Bobby’s entire wardrobe is hung up. I grab the empty duffle from the closet floor. “Was he planning on moving here?” I frown to myself. When I remove the first plaid ensemble from a hanger I spot the case board on the back closet wall. “Ah, of course.” I take my time and fold one shirt with care before packing it. Then another. Taking my sweet time as I take in all the information.

I decide to inquire with the friendlier Winchester. “So, Sam. Bobby told me what happened to him.” I turn to see him sitting at the desk. Dean’s in my field of view in the background as well, still reading. I attempt a poke. “That he was stupid enough to make himself a prime lullaby target of this Frost kid.” Dean’s mouth purses but he doesn’t look over. “Got any ideas yet on how he gets some shut eye without being murdered?”

Sam sighs. “No.”

I want to ask if he’s thought about using his powers while he’s asleep and under the influence of the African Dream Root again. But I don’t know how Dean feels about his brother’s powers. Or, if he even knows for certain. My memory is still hazy and I don’t want to risk outing him or stirring up a touchy subject. Something tells me Dean wouldn’t handle Sam’s powers well if he did know.

“Well, if you need me to try and make contact with someone on the other side, let me know. I mean I haven’t done it in a while, but I can always give Bobby’s friend Pam a call if I need some guid-”

Dean bolts out of his chair. Papers crumple in his tight fist. “We don’t need you to do anything.” The dismissive tone matches the inconsequential way he stares at me. “We don’t need anyone else fucking things up.”

Sam rotates in the seat, arm resting along the chair back. His bewildered and angry expression towards Dean is all I focus on. My cheeks warm at the berating from this stranger with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon.

“From what I hear,” Dean continues, “you are giving the normal life the good ole college try back in Montezuma. I suggest you keep it that way. And get as far away from all this as you can.” His voice cracks at the end. That sound makes me dare to lift my gaze back to him.

He’s trying his best to be an all-knowing asshole. But something’s cracking the veneer. I don’t think he’ll be able to keep it up for much longer. For a moment, I want to march right into this guy’s personal space and slap him. Right before I hug him. But it’s a fleeting inkling. I nod at him. “I’ll get this stuff to Bobby. Sounds like the both of you can handle picking him up at the hospital in the morning.” I inhale and prop up a smile as I turn to Sam. It’s the only way I’ll keep my lips from quivering.

Sam’s brows angle down. “I’m sorry, El.” He whispers.

I shake my head. I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll cry. And I don’t fucking know why my body is reacting like this to the things Dean Winchester said to me.

My heart is racing. I walk with lightning speed to the door.

My brakes are squeaking big time back to Matamoras.

~~~~

Sam’s tired. He should be the one sleeping in the back seat.

He’s the one that’s lived through and remembered hundreds of Tuesdays where Dean died. He didn’t have the blessing(?) of a memory wipe with every morning reset. Now, he panics when he stumbles upon a radio station playing the chorus of Asia’s most well known song. He woke up on so many Tuesdays to “the heat of the moment.” Those words grate like fingernails across a chalkboard every time he hears it. Hearing that music always makes him question for a couple seconds if he’s been dropped back into Groundhog Day Hell.

One Tuesday did have a Wednesday after it. Without Dean.

Sam’s lived six months without Dean already. The Trickster showed him what life would be like without his brother. Sam spent those six months obsessed, determined to find a way to bring Dean back from the dead. He’d convinced the Trickster to snap his fingers and take him back to a Wednesday where Dean lived. Honestly, the Trickster probably got bored of Sam’s sulking and found another puppet’s strings to pull. But, regardless, Sam got his brother back.

He hasn’t bothered to share any of what happened during those six months with Dean (or that one of his deaths actually stuck). Not when they’re trying to prevent Dean from going to hell.

Sam’s need to fix messes could be considered heroic –maybe even to him– if he wasn’t the reason the messes were created.

Sam’s not sure how much one person is expected to withstand. If he and Dean are in some kind of tragedy endurance contest, he’d like to tap out, please, and wave the white flag in surrender. But, then, he thinks about Dean going it alone. When he decides that’s not an option, he straightens up, plants his feet, and braces for the next wave of sorrow to pummel him.

So, yeah, Sam’s tired. But still determined that his brother’s not gonna die. Not anytime soon. Not if he has a say in the matter. Especially when Dean’s no longer resigned to the inevitable of his demon deal coming to fruition.

Sam can push through the exhaustion and fight for Dean’s future because even Dean wants a chance at what’s possible for himself.

Sam saw it with his very own eyes in Dean’s dream. Not the dream Dean’s currently having in the backseat. In between snuffles and snores he’s mumbling nonsense (something about wrenches and spanners). No, what Sam witnessed in Dean’s dream months back proved Dean thinks about a future of what ifs.

The dream had occurred days after he and Dean had managed to wake Bobby from the nightmare coma courtesy of Jeremy Frost. Days after Dean found himself in grave danger of becoming Jeremy’s next victim.

Dean hadn’t slept for days. The threat of never waking up again meant classic rock on full blast in Baby. Gallons of coffee. A concerning amount of No-Doze pills that Dean most definitely wasn’t taking to cram for a college exam.

Bobby had kept himself awake researching with Bela. In between, he spent a lot of time fuming at Dean for the way he’d sent Elina packing. Dean brushed off Bobby's grumpy attitude and reminded him it was best for Elina.

Dean had eventually reached a breaking point, gave his safety a big ole’ “fuck you,” and decided sleep was worth the risk. He’d driven Baby to a clearing off the road, parked her, and leaned back to close his eyes.

Sam harvested some of Dean’s hair right off the scalp, insisting that if Dean was going under he’d need someone to watch his back in the dreamworld.

When they’d both roused from sleep in the Impala nothing had seemed off.

Until Elina popped up in the backseat.

“Finally!” Elina exclaimed.

Sam almost pogoed off the bench at the sound made by a person that most definitely could not be there.

She bopped first Dean’s, then Sam’s, shoulder with a folded up newspaper. “Geez, you two were really knocked out.” Her elbows and arms draped atop the front bench’s backrest. “I was gonna give you five more minutes of beauty sleep. I know you both need it.”

Dean’s eyes widened, staring at her. His lips parted.

Sam dared to interact with the apparition. “El, what are you doing here?”

Her brows furrowed. She nodded in pensive thought. “I ask myself that question every day, Sam. What the hell am I doing with my life, hunting with the likes of you two?” She nudged Dean’s shoulder with an elbow and grinned at him. “Saving people: an absolutely non-existent way to earn a living, am I right?”

Dean nodded back and offered a confused smile. “R-right.”

Elina looked from Dean to Sam then back to Dean. “You okay?”

Dean nodded with increased fervor and turned in his seat to give her his full attention. “Yeah.”

“Better be. I think I found us a case.” She presented the paper to Sam. “Take a look.”

Sam took the offering and gazed at the front page. A jumble of letters littered the paper like a word search puzzle. “What are we looking at?” Sam bluffed.

“A man was found dead in the famous confectionery amusement park in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Police hadn’t released details of the death to the public.” She tapped the spot that appeared to be a headline. “An anonymous source talked to this reporter and said the guy that died had been literally encased in a chocolate mold. You know, like those chocolate bunnies? Only this was a gigantic chocolate dude. Impossible to create anything like that in the on-site factory.”

“Solid Milk Murder,” Dean mumbled. Sam watched his older brother fixate his gaze away on Elina’s face.

“Get this,” Elina continued. “This reporter did more digging into the victim’s life. Six months prior his father had died. Dad had been a supervisor at a candy factory in a Delaware beach town. He’d been pulled to pieces in a taffy stretching machine.” She scooted behind Dean and wrapped her arms around him. Dean stiffened in shock. “Sticky situation,” she mumbled into Dean’s ear and then pecked him on the cheek. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A small smile lined his lips. When his eyes blinked open and Adam's apple twitched with a swallow, he appeared to relax into the embrace. “I say the Three Amigos see if this is our kind of thing.”

Before Sam or Dean could respond a noise rattled outside of the car. Elina flickered out, gone in an instant. There’d been no time for either of them to discuss what had happened. They quickly exited the car to investigate.

Dean manifested Lisa next. The scene was the perfect slice of Apple Pie Life. A picnic in the park. Lisa had even told Dean she loved him before disappearing.

Things went downhill from there. But, they’d made it out of the dream alive. Jeremy hadn’t, thanks to Sam turning the tables.

Unfortunately, Bela had broken into the safe in the hotel room and stolen the Colt. Bobby left them with a promise to be in touch if he got a lead on her or the gun’s whereabouts. That was the only thing they thought could kill Lilith.

Sam finished packing back at the hotel. A heavy mix of anger and defeat hung in the air. Quietly writing, Dean hunched over the desk in an attempt at privacy while Sam bounced around the room grabbing all their items. Sam spotted names on the envelopes Dean stuffed into his bag when he was done. One read Lisa. The other, Elina.

It wasn’t until they headed out to the car and tossed the bags in the trunk that Dean spoke.

“Hey Sam, I was wondering, when you were in my head what did you see?”

“Uh, just Jeremy, he kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out I guess. What about you? You never said.”

“Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.”

As easy as it was for Sam to withhold all the dream details, he was pretty certain Dean was doing the same.

The car doors creaked and squeaked. When they settled in the driver and passenger seat, Dean said, “Sam…”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking. And… well, the thing is… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to hell.”

“All right, yeah. We’ll find a way to save you.”

“Okay, good.”

Sam’s lived through his own hell since Dean confessed wanting salvation from an eternity of torture. With everything they have been through, they’ve got nothing to show for it. They still aren’t any closer to finding Bela and the Colt and the magic bullet that will put an end to Dean’s demon deal.

The last case in Milan, Ohio and the monster they encountered fed off Dean’s fear of dying. The crocotta had used its powers to mimic their dad’s voice and contact Dean through the phone. The monster, claiming to be John, told Dean he could help him locate the demon that held his contract.

Dean had opened up to Sam after they’d defeated the crocotta back at the motel room.

(Dialogue - in italics - from Ep. Long Distance Call; written by Jeremy Carver)

“I wanted to believe so badly there was a way out of this. I mean, I’m staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell… for real, forever, and I’m just…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

“I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything – you know, last act of a desperate man.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having hope, you know.”

“Hope doesn’t get you Jack Squat. I can’t expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can’t expect anybody to, you know? And the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And me.”

“‘And me’?”

“What?”

“Deep revelation, having a real moment here, that’s what you come back with – ‘And me’?”

“Do you want a poem?”

“Moments gone.” Dean turned on the television. “Unbelievable.” He passed Sam a beer and they drank in silence.

They’ve shaked and baked their way through a handful of demons since that case; trying to get any information on the real demon that holds Dean’s contract. But they keep hitting a brick wall. Whatever owns the agreement to Dean’s demise scares the holy hell out of every demon they’ve encountered.

Sam might have a lead on a novel way out of Dean’s contract. It doesn’t involve facing off with the Demon that makes every underling willingly choose an exorcism over betrayal. The solution may be wrapped up in the potential case they’re heading to in Erie, Pennsylvania. Sam knows it will be a hard sell if his hunch is right. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

For now, anyway, Sam’s got another trick up his sleeve. He offered to drive from Ohio into Pennsylvania so Dean could get some shut eye. The trek had taken longer because he passed right on by Erie. On purpose.

Sam’s luck ran out about an hour from the destination when Dean stretched and sat up in the backseat.

Sam clocked Dean in the rearview mirror. He checked his watch. Eyes widened. “What the hell? Did you drug me? I’ve been out for like seven hours.”

Sam had thought about knocking his brother out. Thankfully, he didn’t need to resort to that. Yet.

Sam shrugged. “My smooth driving lulled you to sleep.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean chuckled.

Sam’s jaw clenched as he passed a highway distance sign that displayed the city where they were headed.

“Sam.” The mirth in Dean’s voice disappeared. “Sam,” he repeated. “Are you lost? You better be lost.”

Dean has always looked out for Sam. Sam knows, deep down, Dean’s always wanted happiness for him. Sam wants that for Dean, too. If Sam can unload Dean off to someone that might be able to help him get happiness in whatever form - whether it’s the hunting life with Elina or the suburban life with Lisa - why shouldn’t Dean get the chance to try?

“Pull over,” Dean ordered.

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?”

“Consider this a proactive discussion prior to the demon deal dissolution.”

Dean groaned. His head flopped onto the backrest. “I’m so kicking your ass when you stop this car. And, you’ve gotta stop eventually.”

“It’ll be worth it.” The hesitance in Sam’s voice contradicted the certainty of his words.

Dean was directly behind him now. Sam could feel Dean’s warm breath on the back of his neck as he huffed, “Really?”

Sam swallowed hard. “Yep. We’re gonna find a way to save you, Dean. And, when we do, Elena’s gonna remember all of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean murmured.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then Bobby and I will tell her everything that happened.”

Dean slapped him upside the head.

“Jerk! I’m driving!” Sam exclaimed.

“It won’t change anything.” Dean slid to the middle of the back seat. “It won’t change how I feel. She’s better off without me, Sam, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. And how would she know it when she doesn’t even remember you? You got a shit deal and Elena got dragged in as a free gift with your order.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know you didn’t. But, Dean,” –Sam glanced at his brother– “Elena didn’t ask for it either.”

“She’s trying the normal life thing. That’s good. I’d just complicate it all again.”

“You could give the normal life thing a try, too, you know.”

“You aren’t gonna shut up about this are ya?”

“Nope. Come on, no time like the present.” Because there’s literally no time, Sam thought.

~~~~

Ugh. No time!

I rummage through the jewelry box. Again. My gaze darts to the alarm clock on the nightstand. I should have left the apartment five minutes ago if I wanted to appear fashionably late.

The attempt at nonchalance is no longer an option. I will now have to text Gary.

Running later than expected. Wait for me?

Thoughts claw their way up the curtains in my head when I rush like this. I can’t find my grandmother’s rose gold necklace. I know I didn’t lose it. At least I hope not.

Are the blouse and skirt not dressy enough for Bella Notte? I forgot to ask Gary if it’s a formal restaurant. If I send another text it will be obvious I’m obsessing way more than I should. Maybe the outfit is too much? If it is, I probably don’t need the necklace, too. But now that I went searching for it and it’s not where I expected it to be, I have to find it.

My fingers thread through my hair and grip my skull. I’ve gotta calm my ass down.

The phone chirps with news of a Gary response.

Nowhere I gotta be but waiting for a beautiful woman. Just don’t stand me up, alright?

Gary’s flirting. And even through the technical distance of texting this attention increases the beating of my racing heart. I steady my fingers to type.

Of course not.

Screw it. It’s taken almost a year for this first date to happen. I can tear the apartment upside down for the necklace I was going to wear when I return.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the jewelry box mirror. I touch the soft leather cord around my neck. It doesn’t go with the blouse. But I promised Bobby I wouldn’t take the thing off when he gave it to me months ago.

I sigh, thinking about the grouch in the hospital bed. Back then, he asked where the fire was that I needed to get to in such a goddamn hurry. I wasn’t about to tell him I was running away from an avalanche of attitude by the name of Dean Winchester. The passing thought of that guy still bristles my fur. What the hell was his problem?

Bobby ordered me to hand over his duffle I’d brought from the hotel room. It took him a couple minutes to sift through it as he grumbled about my packing job. Eventually, he pulled out a cord with a charm.

“Should have given you one of these years ago, L. They only gotta find a chink in your armor when you’re the most vulnerable. Lost. Without hope.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Demons, knucklehead.” He rubbed the scrap of hair atop his balding skull.

I frowned. “My place is warded to ‘Singer Specifications.’” I air-quoted. “Salt lines get redone on the windows and doors weekly with double-sided tape. I’ve got a spray bottle of holy water on the kitchen counter. You even told me you peeled the upholstery off the roof of my car to paint a Devil’s Trap under it.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, I forgot I did that.” He waves the cord at me. “Overkill? Maybe? But a lot of shit’s been stirred up lately. And there’s an increase in demon activity because of it. Humor an old man. Put it on and promise me you won’t take it off. Ever.”

“Ever?”

He nodded. “Shower with it. Sleep with it. The whole nine yards.”

I’d kept my promise.

But, tonight. Well, tonight, fashion sense beats common as I pull the cord over my head. Before I can drop it into my jewelry box, there’s a knock at my door.

I frown, stuff the cord and charm in my grip, and wonder who’s paying me a visit and how fast I can get rid of them. “Who is it?” I call out.

“Uh, it’s Dean Winchester.” The voice rumbles. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“Oh no,” I mumble and rush to the door. I’m face to face with him after a quick unlock and pull. “What happened?” The question spews out. I hear how frantic I sound.

His eyes widen and punctuate his already shocked expression. “What?”

“Bobby! What happened?”

“Nothing. Bobby’s fine. Back in Sioux Falls, far as I know. Talked to him just yesterday.” He raises a hand to apparently calm me.

The gesture has the opposite effect. From my limited encounters, any reaction from this man reeks of condescension. I lash out with what I think is biting sarcasm. “Good. Hopefully Bobby put me down as his emergency contact like I asked, Mr. Snyderson.”

He confuses me further with a smile.

I shake my head and try not to focus on how cute his smile is. Or how long his lashes are and how that only adds to the flirtatious vibes when his lids flutter over those green eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Sam and I were in the area. On the way to a case.” He rocks back and forth from heel to sole.

I peek past him to the staircase landing. No Sam.

“He’s waiting in the car, outside.” Dean clears his throat. “He figured it was better I do this alone.”

My hand lands on my hip as I try my best cool-and-could-care-less stance. “Do what?”

He sighs. “Apologize.”

I’m staring up at this guy. Not as tall and eclipsing as his brother, but still much taller than me. He’s wearing a leather jacket that’s a little too big for his frame. A fleeting thought has me wondering if it’s Sam’s. But that can’t be right. An older brother doesn’t get his younger brother’s hand-me-downs. There’s hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes. Their gaze flits from side to side. For a moment, he seems smaller.

And sincere.

“I’m on my way out,” I state. Then add, “but you can come in for a minute.”

He tugs a smile up the corner of his mouth and hurries inside. My nose twitches at the odor of stale sweat and something metallic.

“This is a nice little place you got here. Just like I imagined it would be.”

Why the hell had he been imagining what my place looks like?

His hands disappear into his jacket pockets. He strolls into the middle of my apartment.

I close the door. “You mentioned apologizing.” I’ve got places to be, buddy.

Dean turns to stare back at me. He lifts a brow, then steels his jaw. “Yeah.” He rotates on his heels to face me full on. “I was a dick and you didn’t deserve any of my bullshit. I’ve been going through some shit for about a year… not an excuse, I know that. But, I figured an explanation to go along with the apology was in order. Trying to make amends to the people I wronged before I hang up my hunting license.”

“You’re quitting?” For some reason, the confession utterly surprises me. I know nothing about this guy. But, none of that lines up in my brain about him. “Getting out of the life?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He smiles. It’s forced and pinned high on his cheeks. “Got any tips?”

“Tips?”

“Yeah, how’d you do it?”

I shake my head. “Tips should come from someone who’s done it successfully. I can’t say I’ll never get wrapped up in a case again. It’s a work in progress.”

He shrugs. The long jacket sleeve almost swallows his clenched fist at the action. “I don’t know. You’ve got a job. Your own place. Sounds pretty successful to me.” He spins, slow and deliberate, taking in the details of my apartment.

It should feel intrusive. Privacy invading. But, I find myself taking advantage of the opportunity to study his mannerisms. His lids squint, then relax. He licks his top lip. There’s a slight nod to some steady bopping tune that might be playing in his head.

Dean halts and stares at something. He bends over and leans to the side. On his way to the dresser, he crouches with creeping steps. Investigation mode appears to be activated with a graceful squat. A hand sweeps along the wood floor out of my view. He hops up to standing. Something shiny dangles between his fingers.

I float over in adulation at the sight. “Oh wow, you found it!”

He grins and drops it into my open, waiting palm. “Pretty important?”

“A gift from my grandmother.” My gaze darts to the corner behind the dresser where it had been hiding. I connect the dots. “It must have slipped over the side.” I inhale and beam at Dean. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help.”

I drop the anti-possession charm on the dresser and use both hands to put on Grandma’s rose gold necklace.

Dean points to the leather cord. “Don’t forget that.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t go.”

The judgment in his eyes wipes away any mirth on his face. “Bobby gave you that, didn’t he? He’d be awfully disappointed to know you weren’t taking precautions. ‘Out of the life’ doesn’t mean you slack off on being careful.” He scoops up the cord and unties the knot. A nod precedes his order. “Hold your arm out.”

I’ve obeyed before I realize it. He wraps the cord around my wrist a few times, turning it into a bracelet. Warm fingers fumble against my skin to fasten the leather. They slide up my forearm just enough to tuck the charm under my cuffed sleeve. “There,” he states. “Don’t have to worry about clashing or demons tonight.”

I’m about to thank him again when his eyes do a double-take in the direction of my dresser. He stares in surprise. “You-uh-you collect a lot of cat figurines, huh?”

I huff out a laugh and joke, “Yeah, I’m easing into the crazy cat lady role.”

He picks one up from the dozen miniature cats without asking.

I smile at the little angel in his hand. “That’s my favorite one.”

Dean raises a brow. “Another gift?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Best guess is the people that rented the apartment before me forgot it in the dresser they left behind. I found it in the bottom of a drawer under my clothes one day.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Why’s it your favorite?”

“I don’t know. Just makes me smile.”

“Hmm.” There’s a far away expression on his face.

I suddenly remember I am now very, very late for a date. “Well, Dean, I appreciate you coming by to apologize. No hard feelings. I hope things work out for you. Really.”

Dean relocates the angel with care. He straightens and gains a couple of inches. “I can use all the hope I can get.”

I nod along with him for what seems like forever.

“Riiight.” He stretches the word. “Have a nice night.”

I trail him to the door. “Tell Sam I said hi?”

He turns and looks at me. “Will do.” A hitch of breath follows. I wait for him to say whatever it is he seems to be mulling over. He offers me a soft smile. “Goodbye, Elina.”

The door opens and closes in a second and he’s gone. I’ve been surprisingly affected again by one Dean Winchester. And even though the apology should make me feel better, I somehow find myself worrying about the mysterious and aloof hunter.

I sigh and choose not to dwell on it if I can help it. After all, I’ve got a date!

I rush to the bathroom one more time.

~~~~

Gary’s lips are insistent. Not super rough. His hands curl about my waist. The door handle by the passenger seat presses into my lower back.

The front seat of my VW bug isn’t very roomy. But, here we are, parked at the Staircase Rapids Canoe and Kayak Launch along the Delaware River. The deserted pull off and the moonlight dancing over the water make for a decent and impromptu makeout location.

Dinner was nice enough. I thought my Fettuccine Alfredo was a little runny. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

Gary was a nice enough dinner companion – from the crusty Italian bread with the dipping oil to the Tiramisu we shared. After months of building Gary up in my head, I thought I’d only find more of him to be starry eyed about. Once we could finally talk uninterrupted, the only new thing I’ve found out is he’s very good at deflecting. He offered up short and stubby answers to most of my questions.

I assumed a cool disinterest had crept up in him by the end of the night. He didn’t ask anything very personal. There was nothing deep and probing. Well, except for his tongue currently in my mouth.

As I rate his kissing technique (there’s too much swirl and suction for my liking) I’m also wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Why am I not able to let go and enjoy the closeness and warmth of this other person? It’s been way too long since I’ve experienced this kind of touch. I don’t need to calculate how long. My inner scorekeeper quickly reminds me. It’s been almost two years since my one night stand in Wildwood, New Jersey.

I’m swimming in a haze of too much wine mixed with indecisiveness. His fingers skirt under the hem of my blouse and test the waters. When do I tell him that’s enough? Do I let him cop a feel over my bra? Despite his insistence to pay for my dinner, I slipped my credit card to the waitress so we could split the cost. I didn’t want to owe him anything.

I’ve done more for less attention and regretted it later. I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t beat myself up for craving touch and fulfilling a basic human need.

It would be easy if I didn’t want more. And I’m realizing with every slip and slurp of Gary’s mouth that there isn’t going to be anything more than this. Whatever happens.

He whispers in my ear that I look incredibly hot tonight. I should gasp a thank you or toss him a complementary compliment. Instead, I’m reminding myself how expendable and forgettable I am. I’m tallying up how many people I expected to stick around –who displayed a modicum of care and interest– actually did.

Gary has been, well, nice enough. I recall how he offered to look at my brakes months back. Fixed them for me at cost at the garage where he moonlights.

All the chance encounters with this man have been thrilling and invigorating. After tonight, they could be embarrassing and stomach upsetting.

Cause this doesn’t feel right.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I finally get what I think I want… and… it’s not.

“Whatsa matter, baby?” he mumbles the question into my mouth.

I snatch at the opportunity presented. My hand rests atop his chest to push him away. I am done inhaling the red wine and cocoa on his breath. “I-I think it’s getting late.” His offer to drive me home in my car, after I had too much wine, is now an obvious problem. I scramble to sound invested in his well being. “You don’t want to call Jason too late for that drive back to the restaurant to pick up your truck, do you?”

“Sweet of you to worry, but I’m a big boy.” He combs some of my hair behind my ear. “You aren’t having a good time?”

“No,” I hurry out my answer. Gary’s figure is awash in the ashy gray of evening. His face, half in pitch black shadow, gives me little to read. The whites of his eyes are the only thing I can make out well. He blinks in wait. I continue. “I had a great time. But, it’s getting late.”

“We could have an even better time if you’d relax.” His thin lips curl up high into a smirk. Hands overpower with ease and clamp over my wrists. A push and I’m smothered between his chest and the door. He grapples my arms tight against my sides. His mouth latches onto my neck. “Isn’t this what you’ve been wanting?” His question vibrates under my skin.

My heart beats for release. “Gary, please…”

“Hm, begging for it already.” He chuckles.

“No.” I squirm. I shake my head, lift my shoulder in vain to detach his lips from me. “Take me home, please.”

He groans out an exasperated sigh. His bangs sweep over my lips. “For fuck’s sake. We could’ve had a good time tonight, El.” His teeth click. He launches backward into the driver’s seat.

I sit up and wedge farther into the little corner between the door and the seat. Where the hell can I run where he won’t catch me right away? There isn’t anything for five miles in either direction on this stretch of road heading back to Matamoras from Pond Eddy. I massage the skin of one wrist. Maybe I can convince him to drive me home? Promise to continue the fun at my apartment? I could hop out of the car and run to the 24-hour Smoke Shop a block away.

When I switch to the other wrist I notice something’s missing.

Gary starts the engine. The dashboard illuminates and winks to life. He taps on the overhead light. My leather cord dangles from the tips of his fingers. He eyes the charm swaying back and forth. His lips peel back and display pearly whites. “Fuckin’ piece of shit,” he hisses. Under the engine hum a whirr accompanies the opening of the driver’s side window. With a quick slingshot, my necklace disappears into the darkness outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I’m surprised at my ability to sound angry.

“What did Dean have to say when he stopped by earlier?” Gary asks and turns to look at me. I can see every inch of his face now but he’s not any easier to read.

Oh. Shit.

I grab the door handle.

But I’m not faster than Gary.

He cups the back of my head and slams my forehead into the curved outcrop of the dash. A shock of whiplash shuffles the contents of my skull. It’s followed by a ringing in my ears. Fingers weave into my hair and tug me to sit upright, tipping my head back like a Pez dispenser. I scream at the corkscrew twisting of his hand. Hundreds of strands yank out of my scalp.

“The Winchesters.” Gary is calm and stone faced. He’s in my personal space, staring down at me. “Where are they headed?”

“I-I don’t know.” Balance upended, I’m woozy and confused. “How-, why-”

“Those two are stupid enough to get themselves killed if they aren’t careful, El. Help ‘em out. Tell me where they are going.”

“I t-t-told you. I don’t kn-”

I hear a crack, then realize it was the side of my head getting slammed into the car window. A dull, heavy pulse bangs against the kettle drum that is my brain.

“We gotta do it the hard way, huh?”

I slump against the glass and close my eyes. The surface is cool, slippery. Despite the pain radiating throughout my body, I could fall asleep.

Gears shift. The car judders forward in that familiar way when I give it a little too much gas. Then, it slows to a crawl.

“We’ve got a pool going, seeing how boring as hell it’s been topside lately. Pun intended, by the way.” Gary hums a little to the pop tune blaring from the radio. “Who’s Dean gonna run to before his deal comes due?” He announces the question like a game show host. “I had my money on you. Always thought you had an advantage over Lisa. I mean, yeah, there’s Ben. That meat stick has a soft spot for kids. But, you, I mean come on, you were in the life. You know what it’s like. You get him. Well, when you remember him.” Gary snorts. “You saved him for fuck’s sake!”

I force my lids open. Something sticky’s blurring the vision of my right eye. The headlights are creeping over a dirt path. Gary taps the steering wheel to the song’s beat.

“Wha- talkin’ ‘bout?” I murmur.

“You pulled out in the lead at the last minute. Spray a little scrubbing bubbles in there” – he presses a finger to my temple – “and I’ll get what I need, get out of this ass backwards town and onto bigger and better things. A promotion from Lilith. Maybe visit New York City. Get up to some trouble.” Gary turns to grin at me. I’m seeing double, his figure swimming in and out of focus.

His eyes turn totally black.

I shake my head. The pounding only increases.

A demon. There’s a fucking demon driving my car.

“Gotta say I’m a little disappointed.” Gary slams the brake pedal hard. My body flails back into the seat. I groan as Gary continues talking, shifting into park while the engine runs. “Thought we could have some real fun before getting down to the doldrums of business. This wasn’t the way Gary wanted to end up inside you, either.”

I gotta get out of here. I reach for one of the door handles but I only fist at air. Beyond the car hood, I can only make out a sliver of the dirt path awash in high beams. Ripples of water, the color of black volcanic glass, sway and meet the edge of the earth.

Sudden and abrupt, Gary’s palms cradle my head. A kaleidoscope of black-eyed masks circle in my vision. “Open wide so I can have a peek, baby.” His jaw unhinges. Smoke expels from between his lips. Onyx clouds hang in the air. Terror bubbles up and a pitiful yelp leaves me. His gaping hole of a mouth turns up at the corners in a sinister cheshire cat grin.

The smoke appears sentient, swirling its form into a thread with a needle-like point heading right toward my mouth. Then, I feel the invasion. The alien gas slides down my throat. It violates and expands throughout my lungs and inflates in dominance. It’s rough, uncaring, pawing under my skin for control. My vision is gone, a complete blackout. I can’t stop blinking in hopes I will see something, anything. I gasp somewhere, far away, for breath.

“There we go, baby.” It’s my voice, but I’m not saying the words. I’ve been amputated from the body I’m stuck inside. The prisoner part of me rattles around in my brain, beating against my skull. “It’ll be better if you don’t fight.”

My sight returns but it’s distorted. I’m peeking through a fisheye lens. My hand adjusts the rear view mirror - without any directive that’s mine - so I can stare at my reflection. Half of my face is smeared in blood. My blood. My fingers push matted hair off my forehead and cheek. My eyes leer at my own visage, lascivious and coveting. My tongue peeks out to lick the blood dripping from my nose.

“Oh, we’re gonna be able to get so much more done with this body.” Incorporeal fingers flip through my memory. “Hm. You weren’t lying. You don’t know where they went.”

“Elina?” A hoarse voice mumbles out of Gary’s body slumped in the driver’s seat.

“All those naughty thoughts.” My voice holds a condescending, judgy tone, as I stare at Gary. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to taking care of that sickly aunt you wouldn’t be in this mess, Gar.” One of my hands feels its way up Gary’s shirt and under his suit jacket. It finds something cool and hard inside the breast pocket. My other hand unceremoniously pulls the clear bud vase from the mount it resides in near the steering wheel. “Lilith appreciates your service.”

Gary stares at the folded hunting knife in my hand. A firm wrist whip releases the blade from the confines. He scrambles to sit up in the seat. “What-what are you-”

Gary doesn’t get to finish his sentence. I’m screaming in the cage of my brain. My hand slashes at his throat, plunging deep into the flesh and meeting the resistance of bone. My wrist twists. My other hand places the bud vase near the gaping wound. Blood gurgles and spurts into the receptacle as Gary’s head flops to the side.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Hopefully that’s enough.”

My voice quips out some lines of Latin as my eyes stare hard at the tiny vase.

“Fuck. Well, guess that killing two birds with one stone saying doesn’t apply here. Not enough juice.” My hand tosses the vase into the back of the car. “We’ll just give Sam a ring and find out where he and Dean are. Find another warm body to make another call. Then we’ll update Lilith on our progress.” I see my lips scrunch up in the mirror’s reflection. “Gary’s gonna have to go for a swim.” My body expels an exasperated sigh.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Shut the fuck up. Or when we track Dean and Sam down, I’ll cut their tongues out and feed them to you.”

I gasp, stunned and muted by the threat.

“That’s better. Now where’s that cell phone of yours.”

Dropping the knife, my hand searches the footwell by my heels. The demon will secure my purse in moments.

Dean’s face flashes in my memory. I can use all the hope I can get.

“You get him. Well, when you remember him. You saved him for fuck’s sake!” Gary’s voice - the demon’s words - replay in my head.

Demons lie.

But I remember Sam. Sam doesn’t deserve whatever this demon has in store for him. And, deep down, I’m pretty sure Dean doesn’t deserve it either.

From the periphery of my sight, I see blood seeping out of Gary’s fatal wound. The wound my hands created.

Demons kill.

The demon won’t hesitate to do this again to someone else.

Unless I fight back.

“You can’t fight me.” My voice sing songs. “You don’t get out of this until I say.”

I remember Sam. Sam was able to do things he hadn’t thought possible when something was important enough to try and save.

“I told you to shut up.”

I realize how similar my voice sounds to my sister’s when she used to tease and scold me.

I hated that.

The engine idles, a background hum to all of the crazy.

My hand flips my phone open and begins to tap through my contacts.

I won’t be used to hurt another person. Anger boils and the body I’m in heats up around me. My thoughts zone in on how the gear shift would feel in my hand. How I’d press on the brake while I switch from Park to Drive.

The pedal bears down and the gear shift clicks to R, N, then D.

“What the–?”

I imagine my foot lifting off the brake and slamming the gas.

The car hiccups forward, almost rearing up on its wheels like a horse being whipped. It’s only a few seconds and then it’s bobbing as if it’s been fitted with hydraulics. Gary’s lifeless body bounces in the driver’s seat.

“You psycho bitch!” My voice screams. “Your funeral, not mine!” I feel my jaw open wide, stretching muscles and tendons to their limits.

The lights flicker out in the car. I focus on the sound of water lapping against the exterior. Whatever is going to happen next, I hope it’s quick.

“What the hell?!?” My voice roars in the dark. “What did you do?!? Why am I stuck?!?” My head whips side to side with a feral intensity.

I imagine chuckling like a victorious villain. The Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. Bobby came through for me. Again. Even as my body shivers at the cold water surrounding my feet, I know I can do one last thing to make the man proud. After all, I aced my Latin class in college.

I thread the words of the exorcism together, echoing in my brain.

“No! Stop!”

My body is betraying me again, either because of the demon or because I might be weakening its hold and control over my flesh. I’m fading. Lids too heavy to keep open.

Glass breaks behind me and water rushes in. The ice cold shocks my heart. Hands wrap around my waist and tug. I’m pulled through the water. This must be what dying feels like.

I break through the water’s surface. “El!” A hand wraps around my waist. A body tangles around mine in the river and drags me somewhere.

Pairs of hands hold me down on hard ground.

“Fuck! Sam!”

The Latin chant spills from a familiar voice, fast and furious.

Sam.

The force of water and smoke expelling from my throat jolts me awake. My eyes flicker open.

I see them.

Sam and Dean stare down at me. A heavy full moon hangs in the sky behind them.

“Hold on, El!”

Dean.

I can’t, though.

~~~~

I wake up screaming.

Sam and Dean are gone.

No moon. No night.

I’m in a room. Yellow fluorescent light.

My heart races. Something beeps.

I stare at a drop ceiling.

“El!”

Pamela. Pamela’s here. I gasp for air.

“It’s alright, darlin’.” Her hand soothes a warm trail up and down my arm.

I slowly realize “here” is a hospital room. I am in a bed, sensors taped to skin and needles tapped into veins.

“Aw, sweetie. Everyone’s gonna be so happy to know you’re awake. Doctor’s gonna want to check you out and talk to you.” She sighs. “Unfortunately, so are the police.”

My mind swims with newfound knowledge. “Dean.” I croak out. “Where’s Dean?” I turn to see her watercolor blue eyes inspect me. The usual troublemaker grin is nowhere to be found.

She pats my hand. “Later, sweetie. Listen to me now.”

“Pamela…”

“Do you remember what happened to you? In the car?” She strokes the hair atop my head. “Do you remember what that thing did to you? Do you remember what it made you do to Gary?”

The knife in Gary’s throat. The blood. I nod. The tears flow.

Pamela nods back. “That’s what the police want to talk to you about,” she whispers. “But, if you claim it was self-defense-that he was gonna hurt you-trust me, it’ll be an easy sell. Those two lawyers you work for, Mitch and Ryan?” I nod as she continues. “They’ve been by to check on you and keep me informed of the investigation. Gary’s Aunt Cheryl’s been rotting away in the basement of her house for months. Gary” –her voice even lower– “that thing joyriding him, it had you in its sights all that time, just waiting for the right moment, like a goddamn serial killer. Cops found photos of you all over the house and satanic” –she air quotes– “stuff in his room.”

My head spins. “Why? Why was it after Sam and Dean?”

A nurse pops in. Her face lights up. “Oh. How’s the patient?”

Pamela smiles and grips my wrist. “Sis just woke up.”

The nurse beelines to the side of my bed and checks the IV drip. Her gaze skirts over me and then at the monitor. “Dr. Wallace is making the rounds.” She clears her throat. “We’ve been given specific instructions to notify the police department as soon as…”

Pamela waves a hand, “Just do whatever you gotta do so we can get her out of here as soon as she’s able. Please.”

The nurse nods and zips out of the room.

“Sis?” I notice a dull throb from my forehead extends to the right side of my head. Oh, yeah, my skull met the dashboard and a window. The painkillers are obviously holding back a torrent of pain.

“Bobby needed one of your relatives to watch over you while he…” Pamela trails off.

“He’s with them, isn’t he? Sam and Dean?”

“What do you remember?”

It’s all a jumble. Memories and thoughts can’t reconcile themselves. “I remember knowing Dean, and then… not. And then, knowing him again.”

Her fingers rub circles atop my hand. “I don’t know all the details. Bobby’s a vault when he swears to secrecy. But, the long and short of it… this Dean Winchester made some kind of demon deal almost a year ago.”

I close my eyes. All I hear in my head is Dean.

I don’t like any of this, though, not one bit. I can’t keep literally dragging you into my shit.

Whatever this connection is, it’s obvious we don’t have any control over it. And that can go real bad, real quick.

You’re special. And I want you to stay that way.

“Oh, Dean,” I whisper. “What did you do?”

“Hey.” Pamela gives me a soft nudge. “This Dean sounds like a ton more trouble than he’s worth. You need to worry more about yourself right now, those police that are going to be by, and getting better. Bobby’s orders.”

~~~~

I was in the hospital for two more days under observation because of the head trauma I sustained. Once they ran me back and forth for numerous tests I finally got discharged with orders to rest.

I’ve been on lockdown for three weeks. I’ve also got security detail.

Not from the cops, mind you. I was convincing enough with my story. They bought that what I did to Gary was in self-defense. It wasn’t like I had to embellish much, just selectively omit some details. The demon had left a trail of crazy and murder that only supported my innocence.

No, I’m on lockdown with Pamela. And Garth, my security detail, has been ordered by Bobby to act as a sentinel outside my building. When he’s not in his car by the entrance during the day, he’s tucked into a sleeping bag by the threshold of my door at night. Pamela sleeps on the couch. I am within eyesight of either one of them in my twin bed. No one could ever claim this studio apartment is spacious.

It’s not so much about who might be coming after me, I suspect, as much as where I might run off to. Bobby called Pamela often. There’d been discussions, of which I’d not been allowed input, that maybe I should be moved. But the logistics and the where couldn’t be agreed. I couldn’t be taken to Sioux Falls. That meant Sam and Dean were there.

Garth had to get on the phone one night and offer, “Geez, Bobby. Law enforcement here is so on edge even the wind changing direction gets the third degree. No way anyone new or somethin’ out of the ordinary gets by them for quite a while. This is probably the safest place for El to be right now.”

That seemed to be good enough for Bobby, finally. Not for me. All I want are answers from Dean about why he thought wiping my memory of him was a great idea. More importantly, all I want to do is help him. Nothing involving a demon is good, I’m living proof. And anything involving a deal with a demon is a thousand times worse.

Pamela went out for food and supplies one morning while “cousin” Garth and I had a late Saturday breakfast. It was the first time we’d been by ourselves.

“You never met Sam and Dean Winchester?” I ask and slurp the sweet sugared milk from my cereal bowl.

“Nope.” Garth helps himself to another serving of the copycat Froot Loops.

I sit up and eye him as he digs in. “So, it was Bobby, then, that had you destroy my phone?”

He gasps, then coughs, mouth full of cereal. A little milk dribbles out of his nose. The features on his cue ball of a head scrunch in towards the center at his discomfort. “What?”

“Come on, Garth. Be honest with me.”

He wipes the mess off his face. “Alright, fine. Yes, Bobby had me do it.” He raises a hand. “And before you ask, I swear I don’t know why. He just told me you needed to be kept out of harm’s way and getting rid of your phone would help with that. So, I did.”

“I know why,” I mumble. “Erase any trace of Dean. It was probably Dean’s idea and Bobby just had you execute it.” I stand, itchy with irritation, and head over to the sink to deposit my cereal bowl. “Doesn’t it piss you off? The way Bobby doles out orders and we’re supposed to follow them without question?”

Garth blows his nose, I’m guessing to clear it of any residual milk. He flares his nostrils and does a little head shake. “Way I see it, Bobby’s survived this long on more than a little luck and a lot of praying. Like it or not, he’s usually right.” Garth looks up at me from his seat. His face wrinkles up into a thoughtful expression. “Bobby did tell me you got pretty close to those Winchesters. The Dean fella, in particular.”

I cross my arms, lean against the tiny bit of counter space that makes up my kitchenette. “I thought so.” I sweep my socked foot along the linoleum floor. My gaze lands on the cat figurine collection across the room on the dresser.

“Thought?”

I zone in on the cat angel. The one Dean got me. The one he picked up when he was here and trying to apologize when I didn’t remember everything. “Being close to someone means having faith in them. That’s how it goes for me anyway.”

“Faith is hard to come by for some people.” Garth shrugs. “You and I are close but it wasn’t always like that. I had to earn it. Look me in the eyes and say you have faith in everything I do with a straight face.” He raises his eyebrows.

I feel my mouth quirk up into a grin. “Fair enough,” I chuckle.

There’s a tell tale knock at the door. It’s the secret knock and I start for the door. But Garth raises a finger and sprints over before me.

Pamela breezes in with a couple bags. “Alright, I think I got everything on the list.” She drops them on the table and pulls out a newspaper for Garth.

“Thanks, Pammy. Gotta catch up on what Marmaduke’s up to.”

She smiles softly at him, then hands me a pile of envelopes. “Grabbed your mail.”

“Thanks, Pammy.” I parrot Garth.

I don’t get the same sweet smile at the use of the nickname. “I’m makin’ rice and beans tonight. Not up for discussion.”

“Hmmm.” Garth rubs his non-existent tummy and wades through the newspaper.

The two of them chatter. I walk to the couch and flop on it, flipping through the mail. Bill. Bill. Junk. But then there’s an envelope with my name and address handwritten on it. The print is haphazard and hurried. It’s postmarked from Sioux Falls from about a week ago. And in the top left corner are two letters.

D.W.

I purse my lips to hold in a gasp. Once I compose myself I announce, “Anyone gotta use the bathroom before I take a shower?”

“Nope,” Pamela states.

“I am A OK,” Garth replies. “Pammy, you like Garfield?”

I pull some clean clothes out of the dresser and dash into the bathroom while they discuss the merits of Odie.

It’s the only place I can get any privacy. I sit on the toilet, my change of clothes a heap in my lap, and Dean’s letter in my hands.

My entire body shivers. I inhale deep and slow to try and calm down, but it’s not helping. A finger inches under the flap and rips open the envelope. I unfold three pieces of paper that were inside. The first one is on stationery from The Aviary Hotel.There’s a crease etched in the middle, top to bottom, and a few left to right; it’s been folded into a smaller square at some point in the past.

The writing is tight and neat. Different from the one on the envelope.

I’m not gonna apologize for how I acted today, El. What would be the point, anyway? You wouldn’t understand why I had to. Take my advice and stay as far away from Sam and me as possible. –Dean

Short and not very sweet. But, I think back to the altercation I had with Dean in the hotel room with the loudest wallpaper I’d ever seen. It was when I didn’t remember, months back. Bobby had been in the hospital. I shake my head, even now, at how obnoxious Dean had been.

The fucker was doing everything in his power to make sure I wasn’t gonna give a shit about him. But why? Why the memory wipe? I tuck the page behind the others.

The next page is on very familiar stationery. I gave it to Bobby as a cheeky little gift one Christmas. He never uses it, but I know where he stashes it - in the right side drawer of the desk in his library.

Dean found that stationery and probably sat at that very desk to write what I’m now reading. The page has crinkles in it, like it was balled up and thrown out.

I let out a chuckle in nervous hiccups at Dean’s scribble right under the fancy font.

A bunch of BS from the desk of B.S. Ain’t that the truth!!! El, Bobby told me you remember everything. His friend Pamela told him that you’ve been asking about me. I don’t know why your memories came back. The deal’s not up yet. I’m glad you’re gonna get to go home soon. I’m so sorry you got caught in the middle of all of this ,. princess I always just wanted you safe. As much as I wish things could be different, nothing good comes from being around me. It kills me you had to find out the hard way with the demon riding that guy. All those times you saved me and didn’t give up on me, it kills me I’ll never be able to repay you proper. I’m glad you remember me now. Truth is, I didn’t think you ever would again. It hurt to have to push you away all this time. To not reach out and tell you about the stupid thing I did when I was crazy in my head over losing Sam. He died, El. About a year ago.

I stop reading. Drop the papers in my lap. I recall the very healthy looking Sam I saw months back. And the one who helped rescue me only weeks ago.

I traded my soul to bring him back. But the crossroads demon only gave me a year before my bill came due.

My heart beat increases, pounds in my head. Dean’s words trigger the pain from the assault, a deep ache in my bones. My skin prickles with anger.

Sam died a year ago and Dean’s deal was for a year.

No, Dean. No.

The bitch thought it’d be cute to wipe your memory of every little bit of me as part of the agreement. You gotta believe me, El, that’s not what I wanted. I may have thought it was better you’d never met me. But I never would have traded losing you for Sam. Me, that’s a no-brainer.

I turn the page over and continue to read Dean’s words through my blurry vision. The other pages scatter onto the tile floor.

I want It just twisted the knife, having you look at me like I was a stranger. Having to tear into you hurt so fucking much. But it was all I could do to drive that urge to help out of you. You were a great hunting partner. One of the best. It’s selfish of me and dangerous for you, but I’ve thought about what it would be like having you hunt with Sam and me again. Like a team. And it feels right. I think that life, if the apple pie life was never in the cards for me, that would have been nice.

But my time is almost up, so I’m gonna try to hold on to what might have been, wherever I’m going. I just want to tell you that I love need you to stay safe, alright. I need you to be okay when all this is over. And, I need you to be there for Sam. And maybe, maybe he can be there for you, when you want to remember me. Cause I’ll never forget you, Suds. -Dean

Both hands cover my mouth. I stifle the sobs. It’s not helping and I’m only getting louder. Pamela or Garth will knock on the door soon. I lean to the left and twist the faucet knob. A spurt of water shoots out. A steady stream soon follows.

I wish he’d tried to tell me. That night when he was here. I would have thought he was crazy. But, still, I might have told him to have Sam come up and confirm. I might have called Bobby. I might never have gone to meet Gary.

I could have been with them all this time. Trying anything and everything to help. I grab the page again and look at that word he’s crossed out. Love. He could have written anything after that. He could have just wanted to remind me that he loves pie.

But somehow, I think not.

More tears come.

I flip the lever so water cascades out of the showerhead. I wipe my soggy eyes with the back of my hand and gather up the other dropped pages.

The last page wasn’t written by Dean. The print is large and loopy. Sam.

Dean tossed both these letters out today. The first one he’d been carrying around in his bag for months in an envelope with your name on it. I saw him dump it in Bobby’s office along with the second note. I wanted to give you the chance to read them now, in case there’s time for you to reach out before we track down Lilith. Maybe give him a reason to keep fighting, El. Cause he’s tired of hearing me. He’s trying to hold on but the closer he gets to the clock running out… I can’t lose him, either. Sam.

I leave all the pages atop the sink. My gaze lingers on the phone number Sam wrote at the bottom of the note. It’s gotta be Dean’s. My brain and body go on autopilot. I cry as I shower, towel off, and then dress into my second set of pajamas for the day.

By the time I exit the bathroom, Garth is gone, and Pamela waits for me on the couch. She’s the best big sister I could ask for in that moment, opening her arms for me to collapse into and cry some more. She waits until I’m ready to tell her everything. When I’m done, she tucks my damp hair behind my ears and gives me a nod for courage.

“You do what you got to do, sweetie. I’ll be out in the hall. When you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

I know he won’t pick up. And, I don’t know what I’m gonna leave on his voicemail. I stand up and walk over to the dresser. I place Sam’s note on top of it, by my cat figurine collection, and punch in the numbers. The ringing begins and I stare at the little cat angel, readying to say anything after Dean’s greeting.

“This is Dean’s other, other cell so you must know what to do.”

“Hi.” My voice eeks out, a whispery rasp. I clear my throat. “Dean. It’s me. El. I-I just wanted to tell you that I’m-I’m pissed. I’m pissed that you didn’t hang around at the hospital and wait for me to wake up. Cause, ah, I-I did think of a tip for you.” The lump in my throat makes my breath hitch. “Don’t quit the life. Not yet. And don’t wait so damn long to kiss me the next time you see me, Winchester. I’ll, I’ll be waiting.”

I circle my finger along the halo of the little kitty.

~~~~

I don’t sleep that night. I wait for his call. When my phone finally rings, it’s a little after two in the morning.

But the name on the screen is Bobby. He hasn’t called me direct since I’ve been out of the hospital.

I answer but don’t say anything. Just wait for the old man’s voice.

“I’m sorry, L. He’s-he’s gone.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean x ofc #angst #whump #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #spn #dean winchester fanfic #spn fanfic

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thelittlebroccoli · 5 months ago

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A super short fic I wrote a bit ago about my little guys <3

Peter had been going headfirst into Spiderman work for a solid week the suit being worn for at least 5 hours a day. When he wasn’t in the suits he would be at his suite in the Compound, Vision popping by occasionally to bring him food and water (they have had to make a rule for Peter and Tony, if they don’t leave their office for over four hours, one of the other avengers had to bring them a snack).

On friday, Peter swung straight into his room, the window being left open from his departure earlier. The lights turned on to a low level (around 30%, thanks to Friday) which was just bright enough for him to flop on his bed safely. He had taken his mask off as soon as he landed in the room, Karen transferring over to the small spider-shaped speaker on his main work desk.

“Peter, you have a guest waiting for you in the lounge.” The little speaker spoke up quietly, Karen knowing how tired he is after his patrols.

He groaned as he rolled onto his back, looking at the slightly cracked door to the hallway, a quiet trickle of music coming from down the hall.

“Them them to come here, I don’t want to move Karen.” He was still in the suit, the heating mode on to help his aching bones. He lied therefor a solid minute or two before a soft knock pushed the door open.

“Howdy, partner.” Harry stepped into the dim bedroom, Peter keeping his eyes on the shelling, his boyfriend had started making it a habit to visit the Compound when possible, which took a lot of convincing on Tony’s end. Harry sat down near Peter’s head, his unscarred hand carding through his hair. “Wow, it’s been a week for Spidey, huh?”

Peter signed, bringing his gloved hands up to rub his face. “Harry I want to actually hibernate. Crawl into my covers, hand food and water, and not come out until next winter. My everything hurts and I don’t want to see anything Spidermand related for at least a week.” The hand in his hair stilled, a small chuckle leaving Harry’s lips.

“Funny you say that…” Peter sensed something up, moving to push into a sitting position.

“Friday, change the lights to 75% please.” And as the lights brightened, he turned to Harry and let out one of the loudest groans ever. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Sat in front of him was his boyfriend, Harry Osborn, decked out head-to-toe in Spiderman Merch. His head and face had more on it than Peter thought possible.

“Harry, why?” Peter was fully sat ups nd facing him, still taking the whole outfit in.

Harry held his hands in his lap, fiddling with a ring (that was, in fact( a spiderman ring) as he thought of what to say.

“Well I knew that you had a lot this week and just wanted to give you a bit of a laugh. I dunno Pete, but hey I brought a change of clothes so how about I change?”

Peter had been watching Harry talk the entire time, his eyes wandering up and down his partner’s body. He could see how bad Harry felt through the body language and the way he was talking, so he decided to go about it a different way.

“Nah I’m okay, now c’mere, I’m in desperate need of an after-patrol kiss.”

Harry immediately obliged, wrapping his hands around Peter’s neck and settling into a kiss. It was slow and both of them were in no hurry, so they enjoyed it together. When Peter tilted his head slightly to deepen it a few moments later, his hand followed with the shift and moved up to Harry’s eyes, plucking the sunglasses off, followed by the hat and the little sticker he had placed on his cheek. The one thing that stayed were the earrings (little black spiders). He kept Harry busy throughout this, swiping his tongue over his partner’s bottom lip and using his other hand to slide under the tee shirt and pull the two closer together. The other hand moved a bit down and pulled the brightly colored hoodie off his shoulders. When the hoodie was off, Peter could feel all the scars that made their way down Harry’s arm and hand, rubbing across them with a feather light touch, though he couldn’t feel too much himself through his still-gloved hand. Harry moved to try and push things a bit more but Peter pulled back, taking a moment to gather himself, before starting to talk.

“Now, as much as I would love more than anything to have hot steamy after patrol sex with my hot steamy boyfriend, I am in desperate need of a hot shower and sleep.” Peter stood from the bed as he was saying this, and he made his way to the dresser to grab some clothes to change into after the shower. “But it is your lucky day mister, because you have been chosen to be SpiderMan’s hot water bottle for the night!” He turned to Harry when he said the final bit, throwing in some jazz hands to hopefully seal the deal.

In true Harry Osborn fashion, his partner rolled his eyes at his shenanigans, flopping down onto the warm side of the bed. “I guess I’ll stay. But as long as you scrub that nasty sewer-y smell off of you, because damn Parker you smell like you wrestled with a garbage truck and lost.”

“Hey!”

After one of the best showers Peter had taken ever (solely due to the fact that he hadn’t showered in a week) and changing into a comfy pair of sweats and an MIT crewneck, Peter was lounging on his bed waiting for Harry. Said man was digging through Peter’s clothes to find a good pair of sleeper pants for himself, listening into his boyfriend talk about all the work he’d done this week.

“Yeah, and after the weird kids, which like… why would you put chameleon dna into children, stupid… Oh yeah after that Aleksi showed up. He’s the one with the giant Rhino Mech suit? Yeah he busted through the wall at JPMorgan Chase (big ol’ bank) and tried to break into their material holding vault. He threw off my chase by a whole hour and…” Harry was nodding along the entire time, and he made a small ‘aha!’ when he found the pants he wanted. Still facing away from Peter, he slid off his jeans, and went to go put the pants when Peter spoke.

“Oh come on man!” Harry jumped, turning to look at Peter.

“What? What is it?” But Peter was looking right at his crotch, a small blush gathering on his cheeks.

“You- you bought- I didn’t even know they made those!”

Peter was staring at not only Harry’s crotch, but what was covering it. All across the blue boxers was a pattern of repeating Spidey masks, his logo, and some webs. Harry joined him in blushing? His arm resting by his side still holding the sleeper pants. With no other ideas, he winked to his boyfriend. “Like what ya see?”

“Harry, I’m breaking up with you.”

“Boo, you love me too much to break up with me over boxers.” Harry crossed his arms, seeing that Peter was unashamedly still looking at his crotch. “My eyes are up here.”

Peter smiled, glancing up quickly before looking back down. “Oh, I know, but I cannot make eye contact with you right now so I’m doing the next best thing- hey!”

Harry threw the pants dead onto Peter’s face, a satisfying thump sounding from the contact. As he walked towards his partner, who was holding the pants in his hands, he spoke up again.

“These boxers are staying on.” In response to that, Peter tipped back to land on his pillow, his arms crossed.

“You are so mean to me. Imagine if I had done this to you… oh I know what I’m getting for our anniversary.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Watch me.”

#spider man #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #parksborn #harry osborn #peter parker #marvel #marvel fanfiction #peter x harry #harry x peter #fanfiction #one shot #TheLittleBroccoli

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interlunium-opus · 3 years ago

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"I hate him spending time with you more than I hate running so you know, priorities." [ Jay. ]

[ Jay | fluff ]

Author’s Note: Here's a fluff in response to the following request "Can you maybe do a fluff/crack for Jay where maybe he felt a little jealous when you praised someone for their skill and he immediately goes competitive mode and openly tries to show how he's far better indirectly to the guy?" Hope it's close to what you have in mind and hope you like it :3

“Do you have anything to explain to me?”

You jumped, startled, as Jay appeared beside you while you were busy shoving your textbooks into your locker, “Jay! What did I say about sneaking up on people?”

“And what did I say about not keeping secrets between us?” Jay snapped back, arms crossed, brows raised, “Is this how much our friendship is worth?”

“My goodness, what is it this time?” You sighed as he fished his phone out of his pocket, turning it to show you a candid picture of you and Sunghoon from last night.

“I mean seriously, of all people to date, you have to go for this pretentious prick?” Jay scoffed before gesticulating wildly, “Look, I know I said that you need to stop being aromantic and start planting some sort romantic interest somewhere — but Sunghoon is just ain't it. In fact ! I’d rather you date the spawn of the devil, Jungwon, instead.”

You snorted a laugh before shaking your head dismissively, “Dude, we were just running last night okay? Does that even look like a date to you?”

“Okay,” he repeated sarcastically, “but you love running alone! So why are you suddenly running with someone — and not just anyone but this prick???”

“I really don’t get why you two hate each other so much,” you raised an eyebrow at Jay, “Look we just happened to bump into each other last night and since we were heading the same way, he asked if I don’t mind him tagging along for the remainder of the way — no big deal.”

“Ughh, that’s the oldest trick in book,” Jay scrunched his face, “And you said yes?”

“I mean — we’re not exactly strangers, we have been in the same tutorial class together for more than a year now," you mumbled as you zip your bag up, "He's a good running partner too. His pace was so stable and steady that it made me stuck to mine as well — I mean, duh, he's an athlete after all."

"Hey, I can run well too," Jay grumbled defensively, "You know if you needed a running partner, you could've called me right?"

“Maybe if you were as fit as I am, she would have,” Sunghoon suddenly appeared beside Jay, peering over his shoulder to look at the picture on his phone, “That’s a good picture of me and y/n — no wonder you got jealous.”

“Speak of the devil,” Jay rolled his eyes, “Aren't you a bit too greedy over what I have? first, you took up my spot for the dance competition and now you're trying to make a move on my girl."

"Jay, that was 2 years ago — get over it. You've taken my spot afterwards for the Summer competition anyway so we're actually even," Sunghoon retorted, "Also, she's not your girlfriend anyway so your territorial behaviour is pretty misplaced."

"Guys, cut it out," you shut your locker close with extra force in an effort to shut the squabbles, "Also, why am I suddenly dragged into your petty fights."

"Right sorry about that, he's just always trying to pick a fight with me," Sunghoon shook his head dismissively before turning to you and beamed, "Just stopping by to ask if you're running again tonight 'cause I would love to join again. It’s off season for ice-skating so I thought it's the perfect time to get back to running again."

“Oh? Yeah I am going tonight as well, just a tad bit late in the evening though. I want to finish up some work at the library first,” you smiled back at Sunghoon, ignoring Jay’s burning stare, “You know you can start ahead if you want — don’t want you waiting too long in case I'll take too much time at the library.”

“I’ll go when you go, don’t worry,” he reassured as he backed away, joining Heeseung who was waiting for him, “I’ll text you alright? Looking forward to tonight!”

You nodded and waved at him before turning to Jay, “What?”

“That’s it,” Jay clasped his hands together, “I’ll run with you tonight — and the next.”

“Jay, don’t be ridiculous, you hate running,” you emphasized, “which is why I never asked you to run with me.”

“Hey — I can love running if it’s for you,” he winked, wrapping an arm over your shoulders, dragging you past the crowded hallway towards your next class, “Or let me paraphrase: I hate him spending time with you more than I hate running so you know, priorities.”

“your priorities are all skewed then," you clicked your tongue, "Well, as long as you don't hurt yourself."

_________________________________________________________________________

The next morning however Jay did not show up in Modern Political Thought seminar that you guys have every Thursday morning. Though the guy is such a sleepyhead, he never misses a class even when he pulled up an all-nighter the night before. So this sudden absence, paired with the fact that he managed to run a whole 5km without stopping last night, was sowing seeds of suspicions and guilt within you. To make things worse, he did not even respond to any of your messages for the last 5 hours.

That was why you ended up being in front of Jay's apartment instead of having your lunch that noon. "Hi!" you immediately say as the door of Jay's apartment opened. It was Jake, his flatmate, with his lids only half-opened and hair all disheveled, "y/n?"

"Sorry for waking you up Jake," you smiled apologetically, "Is Jay home? He missed a Politics seminar this morning and he didn’t respond to my text at all — just wanna make sure he’s alright.”

“mmhmm, pretty sure he’s in," he answered drowsily before yawning, "but probably, still hibernating.”

“Oh okay, do you mind if I come in?”

Jake nodded, backing up as he held the door open, “Of course, come in — it’s messy though.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassured, making your way towards the room at the end of the hallway. As you knocked on his door, Jake suddenly shouted from the kitchen, “don’t bother knocking y/n — that guy sleeps like a log. Just go in.”

“Uhh…” you bit your lip, slightly hesitating but relented when your subsequent knocks yielded no answer.

“Jay? I’m entering okay?” you say as you let yourself in, carefully navigating around the dark room, stumbling a few times against some random furnitures.

"Jake, get out okay-" you hear him grumble from underneath the covers, tossing the other way, "just let me... sleep mo..re."

As you neared his bed, you reached over to his bedside table and turned on the lamp. Suddenly, Jay rose from the covers, his hand gripping your wrist, grunting "Jake what did I just say-"

Trailing off, he looked at you with brows furrowed in a mix of annoyance and confusion, before his expressions gradually soften "y/n?"

"dude, you almost gave me a heart attack," you muttered, sighing exasperatedly.

"Sorry, I thought it was Jake trying to disturb me again," he softened his grip and rubbed your wrist as if he had just hurt it, "Did I hurt you?"

"My heart, almost but my hand is fine," you pulled your hand away, "How about you?"

"What about me?"

"You missed class this morning," you crossed your arms.

"It's just one class, no big deal. I just overslept-"

"Is that all?" you raised an eyebrow before pointing at the crumpled muscle relief patch packs and pain relief creams strewn messily across his bedside table, "Did someone overexert himself last night?"

"Fine, I didn't come to class partly because my legs are sore," he shrugged, "but hey, I ran as much as Sunghoon did! Aren't you proud of me?"

"Not if it's at the cost of your legs!" you replied exasperatedly, "Come on, where is the rational Jay that I know? he wouldn't have let his competitiveness and ego cloud his judgements like this."

"It's just normal post-workout sore, I've had it a couple of times before," he reassured, "Also, I may hate running. But I'm actually good at HIIT and strength training so I'm not all that unfit as you think I am. Or he thinks."

"All that just so you can prove him wrong?"

"No of course not, I couldn't care less about him," he huffed, "I just wanted you to know that I can pace well with you too."

"Jay, that does not make it any better-"

"Probably also to convince you that I make a better running partner than Sunghoon," he sniggered.

"Well, guess what, you can't run if your legs are hurt," you quipped.

"Oh shit, that's true," he muttered under his breath, "Well post-workout sore usually last between 3-7 days so I'll be good as new after that. Running partners?" he stretched his hand out as if asking for a handshake.

You sighed, grabbing his outstretched hand, shaking it as if you guys are signing on a pact, "Only if you promise not to overexert yourself next time."

"Promise," his smile widened, "Have you had lunch? I'll cook something up for you."

"Your legs are hurt though."

"They're sore not hurt," Jay emphasized, scooting to the edge of his bed, "Also even if they are hurt, I cook with my hands not legs so..."

You chuckled, "Well sir, if you insists."

"Of course, wouldn't let my girl go out of this house famished," he wrapped an arm over your shoulder, grinning gleefully.

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypenwriters #enhypen jay #enhypen jay imagines #enhypen scenarios #jay park #park jongseong #enhypen fluff #kpop imagines

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bchanslvr · 4 years ago

Note

Heeey! So you're on a Draco mood👀... can you write anything with Dad!Draco please? I'm a simp for Dad!Draco 🥺

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

pairing - draco malfoy x fem!reader

summary - dad draco reads his son a bedtime story.

words - 1,363

warnings - none <3

a/n - thank you so much for this wonderful request anon, i hope i did your request justice :)

It was no one's surprise about the close bond between Draco Malfoy and his son. It quite literally was a younger version of Lucius Malfoy and his son Draco Malfoy, to the signature blonde-platinum hair, the sharp jawline, crystal blue eyes, and to his snarky personality and smart wit, they were a carbon copy of each other.

And it was no one's surprise at how you and your husband spoiled him rich, much like what Draco’s mother and father had done to him as a kid, though he thought his son manners with his gifts of glory instead of greed.

And Scorpius was a good boy. A very good boy that deserved anything he asked of his mother and father.

Ever since he was born he had his parents wrapped up in his little fingertips, and Draco had never loved anybody more than him. After you of course. Well, maybe.

Draco had a tough day today, from the dunderheads he called workers messing up an order, to the zero cups of tea he had today due to how busy he was and everything seemed to go extremely slow, the day dragging on like butter on toast. He was cranky and extremely exhausted and couldn’t wait to go home to see the smiling face of his son. And you. Well maybe his son first, and then you.

And when the day finally came to a halt, he didn’t even spare his office a second chance as he apparated away.

Straight to the living room, the whip of wind as he landed echoing through the empty room. The first thought as his head finally stopped spinning was to go see his son, but thought otherwise as he began to get rid of his shoes.

Hanging his coat on the hanger before retreating to his master-bedroom where he found himself stripping off his work clothes to some grey sweats and a khaki sweater.

Before rising off his face in the sink and making himself look more home-appropriate by loosening up his gelled hair, and throwing on his reading glasses that he seemed to be using more and more.

Only then did he feel more relaxed and happy. But what could make him more relaxed and happy? His son!

He sneaked to a room a bit farther forward to the left to his master-bedroom on his tippy toes, feeling the ever bit more childish than ever.

He stood at a white-covered door for a few minutes contemplating on what he should do. Should he burst the door open? or open it slowly? Which would scare the poor child more?

He thought about it for no longer a minute more as he came up with a plan. He went back to his room and looked through his drawers, finding what he wanted before scrambling to the white-covered door again with something in hand and mind.

1...2...3...

He burst the door open out in the blue, his act already forming on his face as he heard his son’s terrified screaming.

He lunged forward towards the bed where said child was clutching his blankets. He jumped forward, bringing his son down from where he was sitting upon his back.

"I’m the tickle monster!!!", he yelled, his hand dropping what seemed like a book and instead placing them under his son’s armpits as he tickled them.

The once scared little boy was now laughing, his squeals of delight bringing a smile to his face, he watched as he pleaded his father to stop, his legs trying to kick his father away all the while as he giggled.

He decided to take mercy on his son as he let go after a bit, watching with a tiny father-like smile as his son laughed some more as he adjusted himself back against the headboard.

"Did you eat pumpkin?", he asked softly as he too adjusted himself next to his son on the bed.

"Mhmm", Scorpius hummed as he brought the blanket to his face before promptly dropping his head on his dad's shoulder.

He only merely chuckled softly as he retrieved a book from the bed where he had drooped it earlier.

"You in for a bedtime story bun? Or are you too tired?", he asked gently as he watched his son’s eyelids droop.

Scorpius’s head snapped up at the sound of storytime.

"Mhmm Mhmp", he said shaking his head, staring intently into his father's eyes.

"Very well then, tuck in love this is a long now", Draco spread his legs, which Scorpius took the hint to and jumped up to fill the vacant spot.

His head resting on his father’s chest, his legs thrown over Draco’s, his hand clinging onto his father's sweater.

Draco smiled adoringly at his son, a soft look of pure love taking over his facial features, his fingers automatically finding a home in his son’s baby soft hair. A content sigh leaving his lips as he pulled his son closer to him.

"Alright then sweetheart you ready?", he asked as he grabbed the book, adjusting his glasses.

"Yes papa", Scorpius mumbled against Draco’s chest.

"You can go to bed anytime you feel sleepy okay?" He said knowing that it wouldn’t be long before he’d hear his son's soft snores so he needn’t explain further as he marked the side of a page.

"Okay...", he replied, sleep already finding a way to him.

Draco smiled a moment at the beautiful picture his son created, curled up against him before clearing his throat gently before proceeding.

"Once Upon a Time, there lived a...."

Today wasn’t so bad, you thought as you enter through the floo into your living room.

Well aside from the hex that got through you as you tried to finish a raid, and aside from not finding a thing about the new case, you had a pretty decent day.

You detached yourself from your shoes and over-coat as you made your way to the kitchen, pleased when you found some spaghetti in the fridge. Heating it up on the stove before diving in.

Letting out a pleased hum as you finished the food in the next few minutes as you looked through some mail. You spelled the dishes clean before entering through your master-bedroom.

Hoping to see your husband dozing off on the bed, disappointment blooming in your chest as you changed out of those retched robes. Choosing to throw on some booty shorts and a tank top. Rinsing yourself in the sink and doing your night routine.

And as you began to tuck yourself in your comfy king-sized bed you thought about checking on your son. And so you did.

You questioned your husband's absence as you made your way to his room, knowing he’d be asleep.

But all thoughts seemed to disappear as you took in the scene before you.

There on your son’s bed lay your husband and your child. Scorpius was wrapped up in his father's arms as he slept soundly on his father’s chest, your husbands chin resting gently on your son’s head, his glasses minutes from falling off his nose, soft snores filling the room as you stood at the doorway watching a moment you’d never forget.

A smile crept up on your face as your heart filled with love for the two angels sleeping on the bed. You couldn’t help yourself as your feet carried you to where they were.

You gently slipped the glasses and book from your husband, before placing a gentle kiss on both of their foreheads, their bodies stuttering a bit in their sleep before they continued to snore like bears in hibernation.

You would have loved to sleep next to them right now, but seeming as both your son and husband have occupied the whole bed and you having no sense to scoot them over smiled at the moment again.

So fully in love and happiness as you exited the room, closing the door gently before making way to your big bed.

Heart full of endearment, and comfort you too slept soundingly on your bed.

Waiting for the moment that your husband would wake up and complain about his sore back and neck.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist - @hey-there-angels @dearseungie [just send an ask or a comment to be added or removed :]

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ubemango · 4 years ago

Text

delicacies of the season (m)

part 3: days apart

note: hey!! What’s up!! first, I officially have named this series!! it’s right up there for ur viewing glory! ok anyway here’s something before I disappear for the next four weeks because I am drowning in school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also just a side thingie for this story: I’ve already established that oc isn’t on birth control but here I’m implying that they’re doing natural planning (i.e. fertility awareness where the person who menstruates keeps up with their cycle and thus only has sex when their cycles allows for it). PLEASE DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU KNOW THE RISKS!!!!!!!! Oh Lord putting your impregnation chances up to God?! I couldn’t do it. But also this is fanfiction and nothing bad will happen to this couple so let’s all just... suspend disbelief for a second ok

PAIRING. taehyung/reader GENRE. romance, farmer au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 2.5k WARNINGS. kitchen sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a good ol’ creampie bc wot is the ubemango experience without one :/ SUMMARY. Taehyung missed you.

Auntie Gaeul comes over when the rooster crows to tell you to check out the passion fruits today. They’re ripe not because she’s seen them but because she just knows. Call it the Elder Instinct for Ripened Foods. You tell her you’ll give her half the harvest, and she swats at you before she leaves.

“Stop being so polite, I’m not that old,” she spits in jest. “And make some of that honey iced tea your grandma makes. If there’s extra, then I’ll have some.”

Taehyung would probably like some, too; he chugs down anything with passion fruit like he’s about to go into hibernation. And when you come back home from the fields with a basket-full perched heavy on your back, you resolve to make some tea right away to bring over to his house to see if he’s there. You haven’t seen him in five days—his cousin had the stomach flu, and his aunt needed the extra help with tending to the livestock. Being the eldest nephew (and the only one who can drive a motorcycle) had him obligated right from the get-go.

“Grandma! Can you show me where you put the honey jars, I can’t remember where they are. And can you help me peel these—um. You’re not Grandma,” you stop.

Taehyung looks up from where he’s perched on the stairs of your awning, flicking bits of strawberries to the ground for Danbi to eat. Your little puppy scrounges it up so fast she nearly falls over on her fluffy bum.

“I told her to go play bingo with the rest of the granny crew, someone’s betting chicken feet,” he says. You smile wide when he trods over to you for a short kiss, slipping the strap of the basket off your shoulder to put on his. The hand he keeps low on your back is as warm as the ten AM sun. “Hi. I missed you.”

“I was just gonna go see if you were home,” you say. He smells like the wind. Something you’d scrunch your nose at but he makes it work. “When d’you come back? How’s Daeshim now?”

“An hour ago. And he’s better. He ate up all your ice cream, only thing he could keep down.”

You frown. “Poor baby.”

“I know. You gonna clean these now?” He nods his head toward the water basin, carved rock he’d installed for you on your third anniversary.

“Yeah. Can you start? I’ll just wash up quick,” you offer. Suddenly you’re aware you’ve got an ugly shirt with oil stains and holes in random places—nothing Taehyung minds, but the occasion probably deserves better.

“Got it, boss,” Taehyung says. He slaps your ass before you run to the bathroom. A familiar signal of his intentions but he’s too polite to bring it up so quickly.

“Hey!”

“Hurry up,” he calls. As if you’re going to take another five days to get back to him but you get it. You missed him, too; a little more than you’d like to let on. Your grandma is great company but she watches her TV too loud and she hates when you’re not there to sit with her because she might need your help switching channels. It’s a miracle you didn’t jump Taehyung the second your eyes landed on him.

You change into whatever shirt you’ve tossed on the floor that looks semi-presentable. It’s too early for your sweat to reek like it does under the afternoon heat, but you spritz some perfume on your neck anyway. Just for upkeep, because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t anticipating sex, a sloppy makeout session at the least. Danbi’s too hyper to be left alone, plus your grandma likes making surprise visits at your house because she’s a forgetful woman.

By the time you’ve come back from scrubbing the dirt and dead ant bits caked under your nails, Taehyung’s a third of the way through the basket, tossing the clean passion fruit into a bucket Danbi is trying so hard to climb into. She yelps when her fat paws slip at the edges.

“Danbi! Mama’s gonna be mad if you get hurt. I’ll give you some later.”

“Go play with your toy,” you call out to her. “Danbi! Go!”

Her ears perk up at your command, and she pants and pants till she decides to go in the complete opposite direction of the ball and into the patch where all the potatoes are. She hasn’t hit her teething phase so you’re safe from her snuffing anything out with her mouth. It’s her fur you worry about. She’s such a nice shade of white amongst the semi-wet dirt, it almost hurts seeing her get soiled.

“Like a little cotton ball,” Taehyung says. He points to the bucket. “This good?”

You nod—it’s enough to have extra for Auntie Gaeul. “Yeah. Wanna carry it to the kitchen like a good man?”

“As if I’m not one already,” he snorts, grabbing the handle. “Danbi, come!”

This is how it always goes. Taehyung ogles from over your shoulder (usually he’s off to the side but he’s a lot clingier, not that you mind) while you do your business because you don’t trust him with a knife. Not since the time you’d tasked him with chopping garlic and he’d nearly sliced his palm open when he tried crushing them first.

And now you’ve got a new addition to the routine: Danbi sniffs around the dried leaves for the fire, sneezing when she breathes the ash in too hard. You hear her collar jiggle as she explores the earthenware stacked on the side. You made sure Taehyung left the door open because she gets antsy fast.

“Can I just say that I have a thing for seeing you use a knife,” Taehyung says, hands stroking your tummy because he’s got nothing better to do.

“You’re really bad at hiding how turned on you are.”

“Who said I was trying to hide?”

You laugh. “What are you trying to get at, mister?”

“I’m saying I missed you,” he says simply.

“So that’s why you kicked Grandma out the house,” you tease. Taehyung splutters in your ear.

“No! They really are betting chicken feet. What do you think I am?”

“Horny.”

“Ugh.”

You turn your focus back to the chopping board. Taehyung lets the sound of the knife smooth down the goop of the insides fill the space.

“...Are you mad if I am?” He whispers tentatively.

“Oh my god. It’s ten in the morning.”

“You think my dick cares?”

“You think I care?” you joke.

Taehyung gasps. Like his heart just shattered from your vitriol, but all you want is to finish cutting up these damn fruits before you’ll allow his hands to touch you. “Wow. You—? Okay, fine.”

“Wha—”

“I appreciate your hard work,” he coos. He wraps himself around you even tighter, traces a slow kiss on your neck. “Really. But don’t pretend you didn’t miss me too.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“You’ve got a fucking mouth on you.”

And that gets you to shut up. Taehyung only swears when he wants you to stop talking. Not for the sake of real anger but to show you he’s got something brewing, and you’re here to take whatever it is he’s about to give you.

“I just wanted to be a good fiance and visit the one I love the most after five days because I missed them so much.”

His teeth catch the lobe of your ear. Biting down softly because he’s still aware you’ve got the knife in your hand, but you’ve lost all motor skills the second he started his little bit. You drop the handle slowly. At the last second you push all the shit you’ve laid out on the counter to the farthest corner. Something tells you this space is being defiled this morning.

“Good. Are you wet?”

“N-No.”

“Then we’ll have to do something about that, huh.”

You watch his hands glide up, and you’re half-expecting him to fondle you gently, the way he teases you when you think he’s taking it slow. But instead he goes right for the kill: using those long fingers to pinch right at your tits just to get you to gasp into the feeling. You roll your eyes shut, let your head fall back on his shoulder.

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whine.

“Take your shirt off for me.”

You’ve never exposed yourself to kitchen utensils and rice wine on the pantry shelves before but Taehyung makes you want it. He shows his appreciation for your compliance with another hard grope of his hands, this time with his mouth sucking on your neck too. Craving your skin like he’s been absolutely deprived. The calluses on his fingertips rub your nipples raw.

“You smell good,” he croons. “Come here.”

You nearly tip over from how fast he spins you around, but he catches you easy, tongue on yours in the next second. The desperate tug of his lips on yours, the smack of your spit when he pulls you in deeper, all the intricacies of needing someone else to save your own sanity—it culminates here, and now your ass is up on the cold of the counter, Taehyung pulling back from one last kiss to drag that same heat down your body.

“Please let me eat you out here, holy shit.” He tugs at your pants, slides your underwear down with it. Mouthing hungry at your mound because you haven’t answered him yet, so you just groan a quick please, yes and he doesn’t even look at you before he presses his tongue inside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the guilt of ruining this space with your (embarrassingly) uncontrolled libido is raging. But you could care less with the way Taehyung swipes his tongue around your clit, gets you clawing at his hair for brief respite. You’ve most definitely exceeded wet boundaries. His chin practically shines.

And he knows it’s because of him. Not just from his mouth but the knowledge that he wants you trembling towards a heady orgasm, the kind that consumes you whole. His laving gets bolder with every stroke, every moan you try to keep stifled but it’s useless. “Taehyung. Oh my g-od, fuck—no d-don’t use your fingers, I’ll come.”

He laughs, adjusts your thighs so you’re not cramping. “Think you’ll tap out?”

“I wanna come on your dick,” you pants.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re perfect. Oh my god. I’m so fucking hard. Can I come inside you?”

“Yes yes yes yes, just get inside me already.”

Taehyung’s foot gets caught on his pants when he shoves them off, nearly crashing face first into your pussy again. And he laughs and you snort and when he’s naked waist-down he kisses you again, a little slower this time, a breather for just a moment.

“I know it’s only been five days but I missed you. A lot.”

You trap his hips with locked ankles on his back. “I know.”

“It’s just—I had to shovel so much horse shit—”

“Oh don’t say that!” You bat at his chest.

Taehyung snickers. “Sorry. Ahh, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“You can stick your dick inside me and we can go from there,” you suggest.

“I like the way you think, missus.”

It’s almost laughable when he sinks right in. No resistance, just the slick of your arousal and his spit, an unholy mixture for this thick sacrilege. Taehyung’s eyes stay locked on the sight.

“Fuck yeah. Oh baby…”

If it’s got him uttering curses this early in the round then you’re definitely worse off. You’ve got one profanity for every inch he’s claimed inside you, all lined up behind your teeth but you don’t have the brain capacity to get them out. He fucks you straight to incoherence.

Your delirium keeps you mum. Taehyung will make up for it. He slots his hand up the back of your thighs, hits deeper when you arch through the pleasure. “Holy fuck that’s so good,” you whine. “Taehyung—oh god.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just pants hard with every moan you’ll give him, and you watch the sweat glow on his collarbone, the thick of his neck. Places you claim with your mouth when you lean forward because it’s too hard to keep balance without his gravity.

Taehyung breaks when you bite. “Sh-it. Oh fuck you’re so hot. ‘M not gonna last, shit.”

“You’ll fuck me when you come?” you plead, hold his gaze. He’s just as gone as you are. “You’ll fuck your cum inside me?”

“Yeah baby. I’ll give it to you. So fuckin’ good.”

He never lets up. Just keeps that steady fucking, stiff with every drive into your slick till he adjusts your knees with one push. Pussy open to the angle that gets you begging for his thumb on your clit because it’s right there. You fall back on your hands, no steady grip because Taehyung’s faltering too.

“Oh—!” You flutter your eyes shut to pending ecstasy. “Tae—please—harder—right there right there don’t stop!”

“You gonna come for me?”

It’s a rhetorical question. You know he sees the way your chest collapses, the rub of your clit in quick gestures for your high. He’s got you right in his hand.

“Fuck—ohhh yes!”

“Ugh,” he whines. It’s nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, the clench of your pussy from his pounding. You cream him so good when the orgasm’s strong enough, pulsing hot, the rough intensity. And that’s not lost on him when he cries: “God your pussy’s so wet. Holy shit.”

Usually you’re spent by the time your vision’s cleared to the sight of Taehyung fucking you through it. But he’s promised you something, and you’re greedy for it.

“Come inside me,” you urge, guiding a hand through his hair, pulling hard at his nape. He keeps his eyes on his dick priming you for those final strokes.

“I’ll fucking come,” he snaps. “You ready? I’ll come so good for you baby. Come so fucking—good—!”

He stiffens with a shout, grinds his teeth, lets his orgasm splash inside with so much heat you mewl. And he keeps minimal movement, thrust for soft thrust because it’s too much with the squeezing you tease him with.

“I.” Taehyung clears his throat, panting to a stop. “I… wow.”

Your ass is rubbed raw against the counter. But you’ll risk it again to see the glint in his eye when he pulls out and watches his cum drip down your hole, onto the floor for you to clean when your legs aren’t jelly.

“Wow,” you repeat.

“Do… Am I… Am I ovulating?” He looks genuinely confused. “I don’t… I’ve never been that horny before.”

You snort. “Five days felt like forever, huh.”

Taehyung kisses you slow. “If it means we get to fuck like that again then I’m going to the city for a month.”

“Hey!” You pinch his arm, using his bicep to stand up, tiptoeing around the mess on the floor. “God. Help me clean up here, please. And where’s the dog?”

(Danbi sleeps peacefully in the wicker basket, head lolled on one of the passion fruits. You make sure to bring her over to Auntie Gaeul’s for extra snacks.)

#bts smut #taehyung smut #v smut #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #v scenarios #ubemango fic #f: farmer!tae series #f: delicacies of the season

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thebestworstidea · 3 years ago

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The Green Knight’s Lady (4)

Sequel fic to “The Witch and the Green Knight” (on Ao3)

Warnings: undeserved redemption arc, graphic imagery and as of this chapter violence against minors.

Chapter 1: In which Rowan has Unexpected House Guests

Chapter 2: In Which They Try to Figure Out What the Hell is Going On

Chapter 3: In Which Remus and Rowan’s Stupidity Escalates to Treason (sort of)

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

Chapter 4: In Which Life is Difficult

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

The winter waned in a sloppy miserable way, kicking out with a few snowstorms like the flailing of a dying animal. Despite not really being bothered by the cold, D.N. practically hibernated, most often found in a window seat in the library, going through Rowan’s Mother’s books and being snarky about bad information about fairies. Rowan was fairly sure it was just a way to safely lash out. She dug out an old laptop and gave him access to the Netflix account. If nothing else it kept him distracted. Something Rowan had learned was that the fair folk did, as legend said, love stories.

And apparently, soap operas and romcoms.

Like herself, Remus seemed out of sorts in the late winter, though more in the way of someone who had woken up long before they wanted to. He’d gone into the woods and returned dressed in his more normal attire, also having brought back a few changes of clothing that was closer to D.N.’s size, and of a finer make than anything in the Baker house, despite Rowan’s sister’s cautious attempt to find a fabric the fae child would like. For the most part, the rest of Rowan’s family treated D.N. with cautious courtesy, and a certain level of ‘not be alone in a room with him’. Remus, by contrast, was treated more as a benign nuisance, though not without kindness. Frankly, that was more understandable than Rowan’s blase attitude. That didn’t stop a certain level of speculation as to why ‘Leif’ and his friend were staying with them.

“I’ve figured it out!”

Rowan balled a pair of socks and tossed it in her sister’s basket across the table. They were sorting the laundry by owner, and Rowan had made it her mission to find as many pairs of socks as she could.

“Figured what out?”

“What’s going on with Leif and the kid!”

“Have you now?” Rowan said dryly and a little nervously. Her sister nodded.

“It’s pretty obvious if you think about it. The kid is the spawn of the last fairy king.”

“What.”

“Look, it’s obvious that Leif served him, right? And we know he’s dead. So then Leif disappears for months and reappears with a kid? With scales? We know that Leif’s traveled outside Wickhills before- so clearly he knew where the kid was, maybe he was even the one who took him away, probably more of a Cronos eating his kids thing than a Arthur sent into hiding thing, and now he brought him back.” She pursed her lips. “You know, I bet Leif can change genders like a frog.”

Rowan started laughing.

“Leif might even be the mother-” she went on.

“Definitely not.” Rowan choked.

“But he is related. I’ve connected the dots.” she said smugly.

“You haven’t connected shit.” Rowan retorted throwing a pair of pants at her.

“I’ve connected them.”

As spring burgeoned forth, Remus agitated with the need to leave the house. It was clear he wasn’t used to staying in one place, even for a few weeks like this. Rowan could always tell when Remus had gone wandering in the night, because D.N. didn’t come down from the attic until he’d come back. It wasn’t as if D.N. was avoiding his so-called hosts, so much as he was totally avoiding the humans in the house as much as possible as if by pretending they weren’t there he could pretend none of this was happening.

When spring officially arrived Rowan made them clothing, a shirt of heavy green broadcloth for Remus, and a more delicate shirt of the finest white linen she had for D.N. The shirt he generally wore was made of undyed silk, and Rowan feared that the substance had come from the shroud- or rather bag- she’d sewn for the bones of the Serpent King. It was tricky to give them, as D.N. certainly wanted no gifts from her, and Remus wanted to gift her in return. But it was simply tradition, that for the first day of spring everyone had a new garment. So her green brother and erstwhile guest needed something new too, for luck. Honestly, Rowan thought he could probably use all the luck he could get.

It was a fine warm day in mid April, when leaves were finally starting to show, and only the most stubborn bits of snow were sticking around in the darkest shadows, when Rowan was working in her garden.

“Little tree! You’re wearing pants!”

The whippy rose vine Rowan had been arguing with slipped out of her hand as the twist tie sprang from her other, and she took the momentary break to glare at Remus, who had appeared in her personal bubble with no warning whatsoever.

“I wear pants all the time.” she retorted, giving him a half hearted shove.

“Yeah, but usually you have dresses over ‘em.” theatrically, he collapsed to the scrubby grass outside the garden and sprawled in the sun.

“Well, I learned that arguing with rose bushes in a dress doesn’t end well for the dress.” She grabbed hold again with her gloved hand, and pulled a fresh tie out of her apron pocket, lashing the thorny vine to the wrought iron trellis that kept most fae out of her garden. They could, in theory, pass under the iron arbor that faced the wood, wreathed as it was in plants, but until Remus it hadn’t been much of a problem. “How are you doing?” she asked quietly. He was looking better. He’d been kind of wan, a sickly sort of green rather than his normal healthy hue like a ripening acorn.

“Starting to feel my oats.” He responded, tipping his face into the sun. “It’s a good spring. I’d say that spring was happy about something.” in the distance, a door opened and closed.

“Seasons do seem to have emotions.” She agreed, and had to step delicately over him to get to the next bush, pulling clippers from her pocket and studying the bush thoughtfully, before pruning a few branches, and returning to tucking them in safely so they wouldn’t grab passers by too badly. That done she carried the trimmed branches away. D.N. emerged from the widdershins side of the house, having exited the front door and walked so he didn’t have to pass the rowan tree, even if he could do so under the protection of the porch. He glared down at Remus with frustration.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Having a kip?” Remus suggested, as Rowan stepped over him again to get back to the rose bushes.

“You should tell me as soon as you come back from the forest.” he said grouchily, not making eye contact.

“Well, not much is going on, so there’s nothing to tell you.” Remus shrugged.

“That’s good right?” Rowan asked.

“A secret unsaid is a secret kept.” D.N. muttered, not addressing Rowan at all. “What are you doing out there anyway?”

“Favors.” Remus sighed. “So many favors. I’m not exactly a favorite right now. People don’t want me to do favors for them, but I need the currency. Also fixing up my house.” he rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s kind of out of the way, so it might be safe enough. It’s nice enough to visit with my little tree, but…”

“We can’t stay here forever.” D.N. agreed. “It buzzes.”

“Yeah.” Remus nodded. “So I’ve got some improvements to make, and gotta reassert my territory. No one got near the tree, but I don’t have much around it.” he clicked his tongue “Fun and all, but I’m in a hurry.” he made a kissy face at them both. “But I’ll always hurry back to you.”

Rowan snorted, and D.N. rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms and cocked his hip, glaring down at the green-clad fae.

“I’m sure whatever you stay in is better than this.”

“Hey, owch. It’s a good house. We finally got the roof fixed last year.” Rowan glared, waving her clippers at him. D.N. leaned away.

“Well it’s hardly the hovel I’ve seen other witches live in,” he sneered at the Victorian style house. “But it isn’t anywhere I would choose to stay.”

“Sorry for not being a magical house.”

“Oh it’s full of magic alright. Human magic, thick and inelegant, like mud on the bottom of a pond.”

“I like mud.” Remus commented, popping up and bracing himself upright on his hands. Rowan noticed that his knuckles were reddened and split. Putting her clippers away again, she dug into her other pocket, coming up with a small, shallow clay pot, closed with a wide cork. She crouched down and grabbed one hand, dabbing the ointment onto the wounds. Remus obligingly offered his other hand when she was done.

“Why was this in your pocket?”

“It’s better to get the ointment on big jabs right away, and I’m doing lawn work.” she shrugged, and went back to her work.

After a while, Rowan finished her discussion with the rosebushes, and headed back inside without saying anything. Shortly after that, a car drove up hidden by the bulk of the house. Another short while later, it drove away again. Rowan returned to her garden, hooking her apron over her head again.

“Bloody busy-body is what she is.” Rowan grumbled to herself. “No need to come by every time, her tea hasn’t changed in over a year, if I wanted everyone coming by and bothering me all the time I’d start up a tea room in town and read palms and cards. It’s what I get for being helpful and offering to do a unique blend.”

“Can you tell the future?” Remus asked, popping up on the other side of the hedge wall of rose bushes, making Rowan yelp and clutch her rake.

“Like the weather.” She retorted. “Which is to say, not really worth anything.”

“You’re a useless kind of witch, aren’t you?” sniffed D.N. who had taken up a seat in an Adirondack style chair they had acquired somewhere, and everyone in the Baker family hated, which is why it wasn’t on the porch.

“Yeah, kind of.” she didn’t rise to the bait, and watched him stare at the woods. “You could go, you know.”

“What?”

“Nothing’s keeping you here if you wanted to leave.”

“Little tree-” Remus said, sounding hurt.

“Not you, you’re welcome any time. And for that matter, if he wants to go for a bit and come back, that’s fine.”

“I can’t actually. I have to ‘stay here’ until further notice.”

“Oh right. Fairy parole officer.” Rowan sighed. “Well you could probably get as far as the property line, or where our ‘official’ lot meets up with the woods.”

“It isn’t as if I’m desperate to wander in the woodlands, Witch, I just don’t want to be here. At all.”

“Boy, do I hear that.” she sighed deeply, pausing to look into the woods herself. The small leaves were misting the tips of the trees with color, and there was a smell of wet and rot in the air. It looked like a storm was building in the west. It would probably hit the before nightfall, gathering the dark in the clouds and making the night come that much faster in the growing spring day. Better to get her gardening done before it hit, so she’d only have to repair the damage it did, not do that and the maintenance. The plants were being especially springy this year, and she was tempted to put this down to Remus’s presence.

D.N. continued to watch her, as though she was some sort of reality TV show, while Remus sprawled in the scrubby grass next to his chair.

When the first cold wet gust hit, all three of them headed inside.

The storm was really having fun, so they were in Rowan’s room instead of the loft. Remus liked to hang out with both of them, so Rowan coming to work on whatever she was doing -some sort of project involving embroidery floss at the moment- and sit with Remus while Remus would root through her work basket, or bring out a pouch and do something himself- embroidery, or sharpening knives, occasionally woodcarving. Sometimes he’d sit behind Rowan and brush or play with her hair, braiding it into elaborate arrangements that she’d have to ask for help to undo.

Sometimes Danger Noodle would use Remus as a cushion or a backrest as if he was staking his claim. That night however, he’d pulled the beat up floral armchair Rowan kept next to one of her windows to a different window (further away from the dancing limbs of the rowan tree) and settled down with a book.

Rowan noticed that he would raise his hand and rub the back of his neck occasionally as if it were hurting. She nudged Remus’s leg and inclined her head at D.N. He shrugged.

“Are you in pain somehow?” Rowan asked, startling him into dropping his book.

“Kindly mind your own business.” Danger Noodle sneered.

“Are you cold?” Remus asked. “You do-” he rubbed the back of his neck “lots.”

D.N. growled under his breath, picking the book up.

“It isn’t important.” He told them.

“But it is a thing.”

“You never used to.”

He sighed, explosively. “Are you two going to leave me alone about this?”

“Well now I’m curious.” Rowan admitted tipping her head with a smile on her face that reminded D.N. far too much of Remus’s mischievous expression. If it weren’t for her obvious humanity, he would think they were siblings. “If you’re cold, I could get you a blanket, is all.”

“I’m not cold.” he rolled his eyes. “I’m a winter.”

She looked unimpressed. “So what’s with the lounging in sunbeams?”

Danger Noodle sneered at her, scales glinting in the lamplight.

“It's just a feeling. It’s like a cold hand on the back of my neck, it’s not squeezing but it’s there.” D.N. spread his fingers over the back of his neck. “Like something’s watching me, constantly.”

“Huh.” Remus and Rowan said in unison, heads tipping to the side. Danger Noodle glared, there was no way they weren’t doing that on purpose.

“Might be something?” Remus asked thoughtfully, looking at the corners of the room.

“I’d want to keep an eye on him, if it were me.” Rowan admitted.

D.N. sighed again, exasperated, then Remus perked up digging in one of the many pockets inside his vest. After a search he came up with a bag, tied firmly shut with cord. He climbed off the bed and went to kneel next to the armchair instead.

“I made this for you.” Remus opened the intricately tied knot, and from inside the bag, produced a scarf. It looked like heavy silk of some sort, dyed a beautiful saffron yellow, covered in single-thread embroidery. Vines twisted and twined along it, with a snake hidden among them. D.N. stared at it for a long moment, then recoiled.

“Are you out of your mind? Wait, never mind I retract the question.”

“I made it for you a while ago but…” Remus admitted. “You wouldn’t have taken it.”

“I’m not taking it now.” He stood up, tossing the book on the chair. “What makes you think I would even want it?”

“You’re not as strong now-”

Danger Noodle hissed, flashing sharp teeth, pupils narrow.

“-so I’m going to protect you until you’re stronger.” Remus finished as if he hadn’t just been threatened.

“I am still stronger than you.” the young fae said disdainfully, drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height.

“Are you though?” Rowan asked, setting her project down and watching them.

“I am certainly more powerful than you.”

“Oh, that’s not even a question.”

“So what this looks like is Remus is offering you his favor to wear, showing that you’re his... I’m going to say ‘ward’, because you’re a kid.”

“I am not a kid!” D.N. retorted, stamping his foot like a child.

“And therefore under his protection. Displaying a connection.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yeah.” Remus agreed.

“Which is why I’m not interested.”

“I don’t have to give you an oath to give you my favor.” Remus pointed out, he just stared up at Danger Noodle entreatingly. The room was silent except for the storm outside, and the faint sound of someone watching a movie elsewhere in the house. D.N. rubbed the back of his neck again, and Rowan shivered, like a gust of cold air had made it through the window. Her eyes shut and she saw dead branches against a milky sky. Blinking the vision away, she got to see D.N. throw his hands in the air.

“Uugh enough with the eyes. Fine. I’ll take it, but it doesn’t mean anything.” He accepted the scarf and looped it around his neck, spreading the folds upward to the base of his hair.

“It means you’re wearing something I made you.” Remus pointed out and rose up, gathering Danger Noodle into a hug, to which he submitted, to Rowan’s surprise. “Which makes me happy.”

“Mmgnh. Fuck off.” D.N. mumbled, face pressed to Remus’s bicep.

Rowan decided not to comment on how cute it was.

#willow is writing #the witch and the green knight #laoft recursive fic

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elysianxvisions · 3 years ago

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so yesterday I completed reading carry on by rainbow rowell, today I completed wayward son the second book and when I went to search for the last book I found out it's gonna be published in July -_-

ARE YOU KIDDING ME !???????!

I'm going to scream!?!)@?#?

after THAT ending you expect me to wait another month??? and snowbaz??? now I'm emotionally attached to them and I don't think I'll be able to read another book until they get a happy ending.

I will be hibernating for the next 3-5 business days and trying to gather my emotions, do not distrub me and if you find me stalking the tag on tumblr, no you don't. thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#rainbow rowell #carry on #wayward son #simon snow #baz grimm pitch #basilton pitch #snowbaz #books #lgbt books #booksblr #book quotes #simon x baz #simon and baz #carry on rainbow rowell #wayward son rainbow rowell

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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A Place Like This 2

Warnings: this short series will include dark elements including noncon, possible violence, mentions of mental illness, and other explicit content. I’m not your mother, curate your own consumption.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start asking questions but you might not like the answers.

Note: I’m a filthy liar and this is gonna be obv more than two parts and I dunno what I’m doing.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your office was the room across the hall from Andy’s, just beside the bathroom and furthest from your mother’s.

You had a routine; it helped you keep on track. You woke up, had a coffee and a small breakfast, and climbed back upstairs to begin your work. At noon, you took a break, you went for a walk or just sat on the porch with your mother if she wasn’t in her room. You returned to work and later in the afternoon you came down to remind your mother about her pills. Then you started dinner as the day was in its final decline.

Andy only changed that slightly. He woke earlier than you did and was on his way out as you got up. He came home around dinner time and you left a plate for him in the oven if he was late. He was quiet, he ate, and went upstairs. The first week went by as such. You almost pitied him for living in what seemed a crowded isolation.

Then the weekend came. Like the other lumber workers, he had those two days to himself. It would be the first real test of your arrangement.

You woke at your usual time and went down to make your coffee. You only wrote for a couple hours on weekends. Breaks were good. You measured the grounds into the percolator and filled it with water. You turned on the decades old stove and turned as you heard the old stairs groan.

Andy appeared in the door. He wore jeans and a thick knitted sweater. His hair, overgrown and shaggy, was pushed away from his face, his beard a shade darker and starting to puff out from its length. You suspected that as a lawyer, he never looked so unkempt and yet even now, he still managed to look refined.

“Hate to be selfish but you think there’s enough for me?” He crossed to the table and sat.

“Should be,” You rubbed your hands together. You wore an old sweatshirt with a grizzly on the front and your old faded jeans with the bleach stain on the knee. Unfashionable but warm. ‘“Cream, milk, sugar?”

“Black’s fine,” He said as he scratched his chin. “I was thinking today I could stock us up on wood for the fireplace. Since it’s snowing now, it’s better to get it done before the winter is really here.”

You squinted at him and played with the frayed cuff of your shirt. “So, you got a lot of snow in the city?”

“Not as much as here, I’m sure.” He let out a long breath and you saw the cloud in front of him.

You paused and listened for the rattle of the furnace. “Fuck.” You pushed yourself away from the counter. “I gotta light the furnace.”

“Where is it? I’ll do it.” He offered. “Since you made the coffee.”

“You sure?”

“Think I can handle it,” He stood. “City boy and all.”

“Basement door’s outside. It’s a pain but this place is old and not very well put together.” You said. “There’s a lighter in the drawer.” You pointed at the counter. “Thanks. Oh, and the key too. Hanging by the door with the green tag.”

“Alright,” He crossed to the door. “Think I’ll figure it out.”

He disappeared down the hall and returned with his big boots. He put them on before the back door and unlocked it. He tramped down the steps as the door clattered behind him and you listened to his crisp footsteps.

You wrung your hands as you thought. Nice enough, you surmised, but evasive. Maybe he wasn’t running from some heinous offense but he was trying to get away from something. You could tell by the way he always seemed to direct the conversation, especially when it turned on him.

You heard the sudden rumble of the furnace and the vents hissing. You turned as the percolator began to shake almost in tandem and the small glass knob bubbled with brown coffee. You took it off the burner as the basement door squeaked and the jingle of the key accompanied the snowy steps across the yard.

Andy kicked off his boots and slipped through the back door. He hung the key and he shook the snow from his hair and smoothed it back. He left his boots on the mat as you poured two mugs. He approached and you slid one to him. He took it with a soft thank you.

You added milk to yours and sat at the table as he did the same. You regretted it almost immediately. You should've taken it up with you and hid in your office.

"Any plans today?" He asked. You blinked and he rested his palm against the hot mug. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

"Nah, nothing planned," You replied. "So you just plan on chopping wood on your day off?"

"Not much else to do up here. It's nice. Mindless." He shrugged.

"You have a lot you don't want to think about?" You wondered.

His jaw ticked as he eyed you and his lips curled slightly.

"Don't we all?"

"You'd have to to come all the way up here from wherever you're from." You commented.

"Hmm," He chuckled under his breath. "You'd make a good prosecutor. You don't miss a lot."

"I'm a writer. I write about people, so I gotta study them closely."

"I thought you wrote about animals."

"That's what I'm paid to write about but… I have my own projects." You lifted your mug and tasted the rich brew.

He sucked his bottom lip in as his thoughts wrinkled on his forehead. "Uh huh," He uttered carefully. "Guess that's true then."

"So… is it too much to ask why you ditched being a lawyer?" You asked.

"You do anything long enough and you get bored."

"And you never did anything else? Never got married?" You prodded.

"Well, what about you?" He challenged as he hooked two finger through the handle of his mug. "Not many fish in this pond, huh."

"Touche," Your lips slanted, "You definitely are the lawyer type."

🍂

Later that day, after you gave your mother her second round of pills, you ventured out into the forest that skirt around the old property. The snow was only just past your ankles, the powder fell in spurts but didn’t seem to get much deeper. When you were met with a block or an impasse in your writing, you always came out to the trees to clear your mind. You were done for the day but you had a long week ahead of you.

You kicked the snow of a fallen tree by the river and listened to those critters not yet in hibernation in the blanket branches above. You thought about the man staying in the room next to yours and the answers he would give you; the questions you were too afraid to ask him.

He wasn’t telling you everything, perhaps he didn’t owe you everything, but the lines in his forehead, the crinkles beside his eyes, the depth of his irises as they watched you. There were things you needed to know about a person and you feared you didn’t know enough about this stranger you’d invited in. You had been too intent on the money, on your own keeping.

Or maybe you were paranoid. You were starting to sound like your mother when she claimed the birds were listening to her and taking the messages back to the monsters of the forest. When she had barricaded herself in her room and refused to come out for fear you were one of them in disguise. The day it had all fallen apart.

Your nose was numb and tingling. You pulled your scarf up over your face and turned back. The snow was crisper now. The temperatures fell with the sun and that happened quickly in the winter. The sky was a dark grey as you came back to the house, the chimney billowed up toward the quarter moon and a soft amber light shone between the curtains of the front room.

You dusted your boots off before you stepped inside. The voice didn’t stop as you took off your coat, scarf, hat, and gloves. You slid your boots off and listened. The scene was unexpected as you peeked into the front room.

Your mother sat with her favourite blanket over her legs before the fire. A fresh stack of wood sat beside it, the basket full of split logs as well. Andy bent to poke at the embers and send up sparks as he got the fire going higher.

“So, this book you’re reading,” He said as he set the poker aside. “Did she get away yet?”

“I don’t think she’s gonna,” Your mother replied as Andy stood and brushed off his jeans. “I don’t think that’s what the story’s about.”

“That’s too bad.” He looked up and his eyes met yours. You moved so that you stood in the doorway. “But I guess that’s truer to life. Not everyone gets their happy ending.”

“Well, I’ve been taking my time because it doesn’t have an ending. Yet.” She explained. “I’m waiting for her to finish.”

Your blood went cold. You crossed your arms and cleared your throat.

“What book is this, ma?” You asked.

She looked around the chair at you and blanched. Andy sat on the sofa and you pushed yourself away from the door frame. Your mother shook her head.

“I told you not to read my stuff.” You grimaced as you came closer. “It’s a first draft. Unfinished, unedited. It’s… personal.”

“From what she says, it’s pretty good regardless,” Andy offered. “Can’t blame her for her curiosity.”

You looked at him sharply and sighed as you dropped your arms.

“Whatever. Just don’t look at it again til I’m done.” You reprimanded. “Please. I’ll give you a look when I’m ready.”

“Dunno why it’s such a big deal. You write for the magazine all the time.” She grumbled.

“Because this isn’t an article on leaf fauna, ma,” You rubbed your cheek. “You already eat?”

“Just about to. Andy put a casserole in the oven.” She smiled. “Never knew a man who cooked. Your father, he couldn’t even salt his own eggs.”

“Mmm,” You sniffed as the smell of the burning wood melded with another more savoury scent. “Well, thank you, Andy. That was considerate. I’m sorry I waited so late, I was a bit distracted.”

“No problem,” He shrugged. “Really, the least I can do.”

You glanced between him and your mom. She hadn’t been this awake in ages. Her meds usually had her napping until dinnertime and asleep just as quickly after. She was vibrant and more friendly to this man than people she’d known for decades. You felt as if you’d walked in on something.

“Well, let me know. I’ll be upstairs.” You backed up. “There’s some strudel left from yesterday we can have for dessert.”

You left them and stopped at the bottom of the stairs as you looked back into the front room. Andy’s voice droned as he spoke to your mom and as she chuckled his eyes found yours. They narrowed for just a moment before he turned back and smiled at the older woman.

Nice enough, you presumed, but why didn’t you believe it?

🍂

The next day, you watched Andy through the window. The snow was thicker, a harbinger of the storm that had been brewing for over a week. He crossed to the trees, his boots barely higher than the blanket below. He sank down with each step. Only a fool would venture out as the windows billowed and flung the snow errantly.

You tore yourself away and pulled the curtain shut. You crept out into the hall and listened. Your mother slept late that day and when you gave her her pills, she’d just rolled over and fallen back to sleep.

You neared the door of Andy’s room and your hand hesitated on the knob. You took a breath and twisted it. You entered and were struck by the man’s smell; of his sweat and the deodorant that always lingered around him. The bed was made and the room barely looked lived in.

You walked slowly to the closet. Flannel shirts and jackets hung within above a single suitcase.

You felt a pang of guilt. Had you not just chided your mother for her snooping? You bent and unzipped the bag. It was empty. You checked the pockets; empty too. You stood and slid the door back into place. You went to the bed, the table next to it with the drawer that didn’t quite shut all the way and you wiggled it open.

The bible your mother left in there as if it were a hotel and pack of smokes. You’d never seen Andy smoke, never even smelled it on him. You took the carton and flipped open the top. Inside, a folded picture. You tiptoed to the window and looked out. His footprints faded into the trees.

You slid the photo out and opened it with shaky hands. It was Andy, shorter hair, trimmed beard, smiling, his arm around a dark-haired woman and a young boy in front of them. You folded it quickly and pushed it back behind the sticks in the pack. You placed it as you had found it and forced the drawer shut.

Was he running from his own family? Or maybe, what had happened to them?

You fled his room and closed the door guiltily. You were only more confused than before. You descended the stairs and hastily pulled your coat from the hook. Your hat was pulled on carelessly and you tied your boots without thinking. You pushed your hands into your gloves and angled yourself out the door. It was fucking cold; the fleece lining of your coat made little difference.

You grunted as you forced your boots through the snow and followed Andy’s tracks as they filled with a new layer of powder. You weren’t sure what you were doing, why you were doing it. What could he be doing all the way out in the woods which would be incriminating?

You went on, even as the questions floated in your mind. You followed his large boot prints, placing your feet in them as you followed his path. You came to a stop before the river, the overturned tree showed where someone had brushed aside the snow. The tracks veered off away from the log and you looked around.

You were forced back into an upright trunk, the breath knocked out of you as Andy pinned you with his arm across your chest. His eyes seared into you as he leaned his weight into you and you gasped for air as you smacked his shoulder.

“Why are you following me?” He growled.

“What? Andy, let me--” You gasped, barely able to breathe, the snow clumping in your lashes. “And--”

“Hmm? I see you watching me. I see the way you look at me.” He hissed. “I help you, help your mother and what? What do you think I am?” He grabbed your chin, his hide glove rough against your skin. “Am I that villain you write about? Is that what you think?”

“No, I…” You smacked him again and again. “I was just---” He let off just a little as you gulped for air. “There’s a storm. You shouldn’t be out here--”

“You think I can’t handle a storm?” He snarled. “You’re not a very good liar and trust me, I’ve known a lot of liars.”

“Let go of me.” You pleaded. “Jesus Christ, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I followed you, okay? I was just… curious.”

“Uh huh,” He turned you and forced his arm around your neck as he bent you over. You kicked as he dragged you through the snow towards the river. “WHat do you think? I’m hiding some big secret like one of those books you read?”

“Let--go,” Your feet slid through the blanket below. “Stop! What are you--”

“You think I’m what? A criminal? A murderer!?” He pulled you up and spun you away from him. You stumbled backwards as you faced him.

Your boots slid beneath you and you hearth the hard thunk of your sole against the the ice. Thick but not thick enough. You held out your hands as you looked down at the river coursing below the brittle surface. Your heart raced in your ears. You tried to take a step forward but he was at the bank, watching you.

“Ah ah,” He raised his hand. “You stay where you are.”

“What are you doing?” You pushed your feet apart. “Andy--”

“Terrible accident you falling through the ice like that. There’s just so much snow, you can’t really tell where the water begins.” He smiled and tucked his hands in his pocket as you heard the slow crack beneath you. “Your mother will be devastated.”

You swallowed as your eyes wetted and you looked between him and your feet. You lifted your boot and the snap below you had your heart in your throat. You plunged into the freezing water with a shrill shriek, your arms flying up to grab onto the ice.

The frozen sheet broke as you tried to latch on and you kicked as the water soaked your coat and dragged you down into the depth further. You flapped helplessly and spun in circles in the waves. The water filled your lungs and you choked and you stared up through the frigid foam, the blurry shadow staring down at you.

The cold bit deep into your flesh and your limbs weakened the more you struggled. The water smothered you and your body spasmed in the thralls of finality. Your eyes rolled back and the dark water flowed around you in welcome.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #dark andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber x reader #andy barber x reader #fic #series #a place like this #lumberjack au #au #lumberjack #Defending Jacob #dark fic #dark!fic

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nevermindirah · 4 years ago

Note

I'm having a crappy day....can I get Random 19 and Kisses 7 from your prompt list??

You sure can! Here, have a fusion of the two! I hope your day gets much, much better. <3

---

"She's hiding behind the sofa."

Nile doesn't know what she expected, when she asked her dear husband where their precious daughter is. She's had a long-ass day, and from the look of him, so has Booker. Their "date night" is about to be the most sexually charged 5-minute cuddle turned several-hour nap in history.

"And I see you're hiding on the sofa," she says with an eyebrow quirk that he meets with his very most charming sleepy smile.

He's practically been single-parenting while she and Nicky have been planning this next op. She can take this one for the team.

"Hey, baby girl," Nile calls as she walks around the couch to start what she very much hopes is not going to be a prolonged fight to get her daughter ready to go to Andy and Quynh's for the night.

"I'm a witch and this is my bog! Visitors have to pay the fee!" comes a small voice from a small girl standing up amid a pile of blankets and stuffed animals.

There she is. The bestest four-year-old of all time. Her perfect, sweet, silly, curious, determined Kiara.

Emphasis on the determined. Booker's lucky he's pretty, because he saves up his "she got it from her mama" teasing for when their daughter is being the absolute soul of stubbornness.

"Oh yeah?" Nile says. "What's the fee for visitors to your bog?"

"A hug!" Kiara grins, and then she gets that look. "And pizza!"

Nile play-gasps. "I am but a humble farmer, I have no pizza! May I pay the bog witch in hugs alone?"

Kiara is running up to her, so Nile scoops her up in her arms for the kind of big spinning bear hug she learned from her big brother Joe.

"Hi, baby girl. I missed you," Nile says into her daughter's hair.

"I missed you too, mama! Do you want to play magic with me?"

She sets Kiara down and catches Booker giving her a significant look over their daughter's head.

"I would love to hear all about your magic," she says. Here's hoping this works. "Remember, sweetheart, you're staying with Auntie Andy and Auntie Quynh tonight! Come tell me all about your spells while we get you ready!"

It works. Kiara gushes about all the frogs and wolves and unicorns and yetis who live in her bog, and the spells they cast when they all hold hands, and the yucky smelly ingredients that make pretty colors in her cauldron, and how Auntie Andy said—

Auntie Andy says a lot of things about magic to her daughter. Nile has made peace with never knowing for sure whether Andy is just fucking with her or if she's teaching her daughter actual ancient magic.

The distraction from playing magic to listening to an extended description of it works, and Kiara is still happily chattering away when it's time to say goodbye to papa and walk through the neighborhood to Andy and Quynh's. Booker scoops up their baby girl for hugs and kisses as she babbles about how the bear has awoken from his hibernation and this will make her spells even more powerful! He blows Nile a kiss over Kiara's shoulder.

By the time Nile is back from reuniting the bog witch with her ancestors — it's possible Nile should be worried about what Andy and Quynh are teaching her, but that's not a right-now problem — the house smells amazing. She takes a moment to smooth out her clothes and slap on a little lipstick before making her way into the kitchen.

Booker has changed into a clean shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms under the apron, and he's set out candles on the kitchen table.

"Hey, babe," she says, to warn him she's coming before she wraps her arms around him. He keeps chopping the strawberries for the salad while she leans her head into his shoulder, careful not to smear her lipstick all over his crisp white shirt, the only efforts either of them made at getting dressed up for their date night.

"Bonsoir, mon désir" he says. "I made quiche, should be ready in about 15 more minutes. When I'm done with the salad would you like to sit down and tell me about your day?"

She hums. "I would like for us both to be well-rested enough to spend all night working on making another baby. But that sounds nice too."

"Did Quynh tell you she wants to take Kiara to a pick-your-own farm tomorrow?" he asks.

Damn, she really is tired. She hadn't even confirmed the pickup plan. "She didn't," Nile says. "Too busy discussing bog witch business."

His shoulders shake a little with a gentle laugh. "When are you due to meet Nicky in the morning?"

"Not until 11," she says. And then she realizes what this means.

Booker sets down the knife and wipes his hands on a nearby kitchen towel. "In that case," he says, voice thick, "I know what I'd like to have for breakfast."

Nile hums again. She lifts her head so she can spin him around to face her, and instead of the smirk she was expecting, she finds he looks a little shy.

"I would love that," she says. She tilts her chin up and lets him do the rest to close the distance between them. His warm, chaste kiss fades into a brush of their noses fades into resting his forehead gently against hers. They rest there, eyes closed, arms around each other, practically asleep on their feet until the oven timer alerts them that dinner's ready.

---

I love the idea of Nile and Booker raising kids in a house they share with Andy and Quynh and Joe and Nicky and I feel a little weird reproducing the heterosexual nuclear family shit that was toxic as hell how my parents did it. But fuck it, this is an easy way to have this baby be adorable and then get her out of the house so Nile and Booker can be the grown-up kind of adorable.

Napping with someone you love is such a valid date night activity. I hope everyone reading this gets good rest tonight.

#fandom friends #book of nile #nile freeman #sebastien le livre #parenting #tog fic #tog #my tumblr fics #mine

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hardknifeplays · 4 years ago

Text

Happy Friday The 13th!

Jason Voorhees x Gender-Neutral S/O

Words : 2,3k+

Genre : Fluff, Angst

Warning : None

Your activities are getting busier every day, especially after it is announced when the midterm exam will take place. You have to carefully think about how to manage your time well, to study, rest, and make time for your lover, Jason Voorhees.

This week has been tough for you, so you decided to spend your weekend with Jason. You pack your books and stationery, change of clothes, toiletries, blankets, and some snacks. You put the items in your backpack, then walks out of the house and start getting into the car and drive to Camp Crystal Lake.

The sky this afternoon is looking a little cloudy, it turns you into a bad mood. Moreover, also because you are stuck in traffic. Crystal Lake is located quite a distance from where you live, it takes about 3 hours to go there by car.

You close your eyes while grunting in annoyance. You put your head on the steering wheel of the car, then gently tap the it with your fingers. You look up, and your eyes are fixed on the long line of cars in front of you. Shit, when will all of this end? You've been stressed enough lately, why is there still this traffic jam anyway?

You looked at the clock on your cellphone. It's two-thirty in the afternoon. It should be a naptime for you, no wonder why you’re a little sleepy.

The traffic slowly starts to move. You immediately rush to drive your car quickly. Shortly after, you started to enter the suburbs. There aren't many people around here. The trees are shady, and there is only one road that is not paved but not rocky either. This road will be very slippery when it rains because it can make your vehicle slip.

You let out a sigh of relief and smile a little when you finally passed a wooden board that read 'Welcome to Crystal Lake'.

Upon your arrival there, you park your car right next to the entrance. You get out of the car, put your two feet on the slightly dry soil of Crystal Lake. You look at the trees, and you just remember that it is autumn. Autumn is your and Jason's favorite season because the air is cool, not too hot, but not too cold either. Apart from that, the leaves and trees are all reddish-orange. Beautiful.

You walk into the camp area. You miss the place since the last time you visited here, which was about three weeks ago. You did not go here for two weeks. You were pretty busy, so you were not sure if you could meet Jason. You're feeling a little scared. What if Jason gets mad at you? You promised him to come once a week, every weekend.

There is the sound of dry leaves and broken branches when you step your feet, and you are completely stunned to see the view of the lake. The lake looks very peaceful, and you find some small animals running around in search of food supplies before hibernating in winter.

You continue your footsteps to get to the cabin where Jason lives. He has made a path for you to walk that is clear from the bear traps. You're walking and holding the straps of your backpack, you're so excited and can't wait to meet Jason. You sing a little while chuckling and every time you see flying birds.

“Jason!” You shout while waving your hands enthusiastically when you see the figure of a tall and large man sitting on a fallen tree trunk on the edge of the lake.

Jason doesn't turn at you in the slightest.

You lower your hand slowly, then feel uncomfortable and a bit strange. You look down, walks slowly and carefully approached him.

“Jason? I—” Your words are interrupted when Jason points towards his cabin which is located not far from where you are standing now. He doesn't even look at you when he gives you a gesture to go to the cabin.

Seeing his unfamiliar and cold reaction like that feels painful to you. You walk towards his cabin, open the door, put your backpack, and sit on the old sofa that was in the middle of the room. You're sure this must have something to do with your absence for two weeks.

“Dammit,” you whispered to yourself. You feel very guilty for not telling Jason about your exam schedule. You left for two weeks without a word, you must have made him worried a lot. You have prepared yourself if after this Jason will be mad at you and not want to see you again.

You look up and find that Jason is not sitting on the fallen tree trunk anymore. You shake your head several times before closing your eyes tightly. You have no energy even just to step on your feet, out and search for him. You leaned your back against the sofa.

“I would go if he really tells me to go,” you muttered softly, looking at the emptiness in front of you. You lay down, find a comfortable position, then decide to sleep on the sofa.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You open your eyes slowly, your deep sleep is disturbed because you heard a noise. Everything looks blurry, and oh, it's raining. Trying to keep your eyes open, you stroked your arms slowly. It's cold.

Clack.

Jason put a glass of warm herbal tea on the table. He stands in front of you and watching you in silence. You immediately get up from your sleep, then sit on the sofa. You look back at Jason tensely. You don't want to say anything other than thanking him for making you tea.

Jason may not be the smartest student in his school, but this boyfriend of yours is really good at learning things. Everything he can do—build and fix the cabin and its furniture, understand the cabling system, make herbal teas, grow crops—is self-taught. And let's be honest, you're very proud of him.

Jason walks toward you, then rests himself beside you. He lets out a deep breath, not taking his eyes off you at all. You're sipping the tea, and the taste is not bad? It's enough to warm your body. You're tapping the glass with your finger, getting nervous.

“Jason, I'm sorry,” you said, looking at Jason. Jason doesn't give you any response, indicating that he allows you to continue. “I, I have midterm exams for two weeks, so I didn't come to visit you. The last time I came here, I forgot to tell you this. So I thought I've made you worried," you explain to him.

He nods. Yes, you have made him upset and worried.

Jason then stretches out his arms and pulls your body closer to him. You let him do that, and now you're in his embrace. You bury your face in his chest, feel the rising and falling of his breath. “I'm sorry,” you say. Jason hugs you tight and strokes your back lightly. “This week has been quite chaotic for me, and I didn't even think about coming here and spending time with you.”

Jason loosens his hug and lifts your chin softly. He looks into your eyes, and you look exhausted. Then he tilts his head slightly. “Well, my exam went… smooth enough. I know I didn't get an A but I think that next week there will still be a lot of assignments and exams to go through, and I don't know if I could visit you or not,” you say, staring at Jason while resting your head against his chest.

You notice Jason's eyes sparkle and he holds you even tighter. Jason doesn't care about your grades on exams. What he worries about is if you become stressed because of your exam. But after hearing your story and you said that your exam was going well, he gives you a few gentle pats on your head as a reward.

“Oh, the head pats are the reward for me?” you ask, smiling widely. Jason gives you a brief nod and goes back to pat your head a few times. You let out a chuckle that is so refreshing to Jason's ears. During your absence, all Jason heard was the sound of small animals and silence. Jason misses you, and he realizes that you are very important to him. “Thank you, handsome,” you reply, giving a little kiss on Jason's forehead.

The rain outside is getting heavier, and you just cuddle in silence with Jason. He pulled out a blanket and covered both of you. You smirk at him, you have a plan. You sneak your hands into the blanket and try to tickle Jason, and oh my God, you can hear Jason chuckle! Your boy is so ticklish, you couldn't help but keep tickling him.

“Ah, who gave you the right to be this cute?” you say, stop tickling Jason and give him a boop in his nose. Jason immediately looking down to hide his face, and you can be sure that his cheeks are now flushing red. He is very embarrassed every time you praise him, and he puts his hands together to cover his face. Seeing his reaction, you laugh instantly. You take both of his hands and put them away from his face, and lift his hockey mask a little to give him a soft kiss on the lips.

“You always bite my lip whenever we kiss. What a biter. I'm afraid if someday you'll steal my lips away,” you say as you let go of your kiss and grin softly. Jason rubs the nape of his neck, please forgive him as he's not used to kissing!

You two are cuddling and squeezing each other. From a distance, both of you look like a kangaroo and its cub. Jason covers your entire body with a blanket because he's so worried that you will get cold, and it makes you look like a kangaroo cub in its mother's pouch.

Jason glances at you in his arms, oh my. You look very attractive to him. No matter how tall you are, your figure will always be smaller than him, and it makes him want to always protect you. But if you happens to be taller than him, Jason would try to hug and protect you too. He doesn't care about your height, the only thing he cares about is the fact that you make him comfortable. You are willing to take care of him, even become his partner, what can he ask for more? You are truly a blessing for this man.

He touches your shoulder with his index finger twice to get your attention back. You turn to him with a smile and raised an eyebrow.

“Ma-ma?” said Jason, his voice almost a whisper that was barely audible in the rain. You look at him for a moment and blink twice. “You want to meet your mother?” you ask, and he nods. “Okay, let's visit Pamela. I miss her too!” you said, removing the blanket that wrapped your body and clutching Jason's index finger. You two walk towards the room where Jason keeps his mother's head.

“Hi, Pamela. It’s Friday, and I miss you,” you said, before finally sitting next to Jason and facing Pamela's severed head. The two of you sit in quietness for a few moments.

Jason rises from his seat first, then you follow him. You step out of the cabin to see if it's still raining or not. And as it turns out, the rain has stopped, leaving behind the smell of earth and grass, and also the cool air that you like. You took a deep breath as if you wanted to take in all the scent of nature. Your mood feels a lot better.

It is half-past seven in the evening. Time flies so fast, but it doesn't matter because you spend it curled up comfortably in the blankets with Jason.

You sit on the stairs of Jason's cabin porch and enjoy the sound of insects and frogs shouting to each other. It sounds like they’re having a mini-war. This place gives peace to your mind which has been a mess lately. You hear a footstep approaching, and look back. Jason standing at the door and leaning himself against it. You greet him with a smile and reach out your hand to him, which he gladly takes and Jason places himself one ladder below you. His head rests on one of your knees, and he takes your hand and puts it on his chest.

“I want to sing for you,” you say spontaneously, in a whisper. Jason turns to look at you, his thumb gently rubbing your palm. You smile and kiss his forehead. "But my voice is disgusting," you continue and laugh. Jason shakes his head quickly, and he gives you a thumbs up, encouraging you to sing for him. Jason always thinks that your voice sounds so lovely compared to his voice, which is barely there.

“Okay, okay. I hope you like this song,” you said, clearing your throat before you start to sing.

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a Jupiter and Mars

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

Your voice sounds so calming to his ears, accompanied by the singing of insects. You paused to kiss his head slightly, then continue your singing.

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

In other words, please be true

In other words,

I love you

Jason gives you a round of applause, you can see his eyes beams lightly from the big smile behind his mask. Jason rise from his seat then lifts you up in bridal style. You can only laugh out loud seeing him do that to you, and he looks very happy!

You look at Jason and cupping his cheeks. Everything feels better with the two of you being there for each other. You kiss his mask one more time.

“Happy Friday The 13th, my love.”

#Friday the 13th #friday the 13th imagines #jason voorhees #jason voorhees imagines #jason voorhees headcanons #jason voorhees fic #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you

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umbry-fic · 3 years ago

Text

A Palette Full of You (4)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd’s lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving Rating: G Chapter: 4 of 6 Word Count: 5897 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 12/06/2021

Chapter Title: Stardust

Chapter Summary: The astronomy club holds a stargazing event on the school rooftop. As chairperson, there's no chance Lloyd isn't going to invite Colette. But as the night progresses, actually spotting the hard-to-find stars become the least of Colette's concerns.

(Colloyd Week Day 4: Stargazing)

Notes+Warnings: Chapter 4 of my multi chapter Colloyd week fic! Warning for some major internalised acephobia.

Chapter list Full fic Previous chapter Next chapter

~~~

16-years-old

Stepping out of the science lab into the corridor, Colette came to a halt, her schoolbag weighing on her shoulders, soaking in the warm air as other students filed past her. One of the most unfortunate things about attending practical make-up was that she wasn't guaranteed her usual seat by the lab window. Sitting right under the air-con was enough to send her into hibernation, and the test was hard enough as it was. She'd barely managed to finish on time.

Rummaging through the pocket of her navy blue pinafore, her fingers brushed past a packet of tissue and her wallet before successfully pulling her phone out. She needed a reminder of where the stargazing event was taking place, and who better to ask than Lloyd? She hoped he was reading his messages.

"7.23 pm, May 18th" blinked at her from her phone screen.

Wait, 7 missed calls? From Lloyd? What for?

Gah, she’d forgotten to tell him.

She dialled his number, placing the phone against her ear and waiting for his anxious voice to ring out. Which it did, just seconds later as he picked up.

“Colette? Where are you? I tried calling you so many times, and Sheena and Zelos wouldn’t pick up because they’re both at tuition!”

“I forgot to tell you the makeup got pushed by an hour. Sorry for making you worry, Lloyd. But I’m done now. Where’s the event at?”

"We’re on the school rooftop! Where we celebrated Sheena's birthday last month, remember?" Lloyd replied, his voice tinny in quality from the phone call. She could hear, in the background, the overlapping sounds of many voices.

“School rooftop, school rooftop, school rooftop…” she mumbled, beginning to scurry through her secondary school's corridors, head darting every which way to determine where she was and try to find clues as to where she was going. She didn’t often wander into this part of the school campus - block D, the science block - since she only took two sciences. Usually, she’d take the main staircase straight down to the canteen, but it would take forever to get back to the roof from there. She didn’t want to be too late.

“You’re coming from science lab 3, right? If I remember correctly, it’s one right, walk past the storage room to block C, and then take the first left down the bridge to block B. You should see the staircase to the roof. Do you need me to come and get you?”

“No, no, it’s fine! Just stay on the phone?”

“Alri - OI, MATTHEW, STOP MESSING WITH THE TELESCOPE! YOU DO NOT GET SPECIAL TREATMENT JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE MY DESKMATE! GET YOUR HANDS OFF AND LET ELLA HANDLE IT!” The yell was muffled, probably because Lloyd had taken the phone away from his mouth to avoid deafening her, though his raised voice was still enough to make her wince, tearing the phone away from her ear.

“Sorry about that,” Lloyd said, his voice lowered back to normal volume again. “Got to prevent property damage. You know how it is.”

“Right…” She laughed nervously, wondering how many people were up on the rooftop and what exactly they were up to. She was hoping to spend a peaceful evening stargazing with Lloyd and listening to him talk about constellations, the shining passion in his eyes rivalling even the stars above, not… getting distracted by people fooling around.

“How’s it going? Are you getting closer?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m heading in the right direction,” she assured Lloyd, taking the left he’d directed her to and running down the bridge connecting two blocks, her ponytail flaring behind her and her pinafore swirling around her legs. There was almost no one left in the school now. The hallways she’d run through had been abandoned, for the most part, the stragglers she passed by all heading in the direction of the main gate. The sky, visible from the bridge, was in the last throes of twilight, slowly bleeding into night as black seeped across the sky.

Colette skidded to a halt at the end of the bridge, gaze landing on a familiar door. She could recall this stairwell now, having taken it two months ago. She, Zelos and Lloyd had somehow managed to lead a blindfolded Sheena up it, whereafter they had surprised their friend with a birthday cake they had baked together. That birthday cake had been salvaged solely by Zelos, who was a surprisingly good baker. Or maybe they were just average, and weren't knocking over the baking tray every ten minutes like her.

“I’ve found the right staircase!” Colette said, hanging up and stuffing her phone back into her pocket and starting to take the stairs two at a time. She usually never did that (and was often teased by Sheena over it), choosing to climb each step carefully, for the risk of tripping was too high. But she was in a hurry, and so had no other choice. Her shoe-laces were coming undone, and her school bag seemed to be getting heavier with each step.

Everyone else who was attending the event was likely already on the rooftop - Colette could hear voices and the sounds of footsteps against concrete through the open door at the top of the stairwell. Grabbing the cold metal handle, she threw the door open, finally emerging onto the rooftop.

There were about thirty or so people milling around, everyone still dressed in their school uniforms, chatting with friends, holding cups of fruit punch or lounging on the mats that had come from the gymnasium. Not enough people to count as a crowd, but certainly respectable. Just a small event, one where she could relax and enjoy some peace and quiet.

Now she just had to find Lloyd...

"Colette!"

Speak of the devil! Or the angel, perhaps... Colette tracked the source of the voice and spotted Lloyd, making his way over from a group of students who were busy fiddling with a telescope, his hand gripping a red plastic cup. One side of his collar was flipped up, and the small shooting star pin that marked him as the chairperson of the astrology club was pinned to the other. Only one of the sleeves of his white blouse were folded like they were meant to be, the other way too long and leaving barely any skin visible above his elbow. His white long pants had been rolled up as much as possible - which wasn't much, honestly, the most it could reach was mid-thigh. It was one of those stuffy nights with no wind that was stifling and hard to fall asleep in.

"You made it!" Lloyd's grin grew wider as he grabbed her hand, only for him to flinch away instantly, vivid red liquid nearly sloshing over the rim of his cup. “Gah, your hand is really cold.”

"Sorry! You know how cold the lab is. Anyway, I only made it here thanks to your assistance." Colette laughed, feeling her weariness peel off her instantly. Lloyd always had that effect on her - his energy was infectious, like it was being injected straight into her veins whenever she was in close proximity to him. Especially now, with clear excitement alive on his face.

It was strange, though. He was the only one with that effect on her. Meeting her other friends never failed to make her happy, but Lloyd was the only one that could make her feel ten times more alive in an instant the moment she saw his smile. It had only started in the past year, this unknown, electrifying sensation that arose in her heart whenever she was with Lloyd. The desire to see him again after school ended got stronger with each day, but she couldn’t understand any of it…

“You’re staying for the afterparty, right?” Lloyd asked, taking a sip of the fruit punch. He said afterparty, but she knew it wouldn’t be much of a party. Just all the members of the astrology club hanging out in the tiny room the school had assigned to them, playing card games and chatting. Everyone in the club knew her by name, for she was the friend of their chairperson who somehow managed to turn up at every meeting. She was practically an honorary member at this point.

A homey gathering without any alcohol in sight. She much preferred it that way. The last time alcohol had come into play when she was staying overnight at a chalet with the rest of her class, sometime late last year. She'd avoided the cans of beer stacked on the floor, the smell not appealing to her. But alcohol sure made the rest of her classmates go wild. Running away from slightly drunk classmates trying to get her to play truth and dare was not fun. Normal truth and dare was already horrible, with questions like "who are you crushing on" and "who would you like to kiss". She didn't understand why it was a game that people insisted be played at every class gathering or orientation. No one ever believed her when she answered honestly with "no one", and she was fairly used to the reactions by now, the common ones being that she had to be lying, for everyone had someone in mind, or that she should stop acting so high-and-mighty, or just snickers of her being a prude.

Just because she was used to the biting words didn't mean they had stopped hurting, reminder stacked atop reminder of how she was isolated from everyone else around her. And as much as she hated answering "truth" whenever that accursed bottle landed on her, answering "dare" was even worse. There were the innocent ones like doing the chicken dance, and then there was having to kiss someone. She always did her best to leave as soon as the bottle made an appearance, but she could never say "no" when someone asked her directly to join, for she never knew how to turn people down. Neither did she want to give her classmates more reasons to treat her as a laughingstock for being too much of a coward to play. So now, whenever she was forced to play the game, she would give the least offensive answers possible - mostly girls, for she at least found them pretty, though she didn't think that was what attractive meant.

But the drunk version of truth and dare? That was hell on Earth. The questions got even more invasive. She could never understand how someone could ask "who would you sleep with here" with a straight face. And alcohol loosened the lips of her classmates, enough that she had heard snippets of some of the more adventurous ones describing their sexual escapades in sickening detail. She really didn't need the reminder that sexual activities weren't just a thing of fiction, but something that actually happened amongst real people and that people seemed to really want to do. She'd spent half of that chalet stay playing Uno with Zelos in a corner, because Zelos was way better at promptly rejecting offers to play truth and dare.

Only her friends had ever come to her defence, but it was not like they could help that much when they weren't in the same class, apart from Zelos. Still, they afforded much-needed safety, and they never pointed out how she was weird or strange or different, even if they must have noticed by now. But...

She was 16. Wasn't she supposed to get it by now?

“Yep, I'm staying. We can go home together,” Colette suggested, tearing her thoughts back to the present. "Dad already knows I'll be coming home late, and Aunt Anna can just pick us both up."

Colette reached out to fold Lloyd's right sleeve, straightening the wrinkles out, before reaching to flip his collar down. His uniform was always in such a state of disarray, and it was always up to her to get him looking neat before the teachers did their inspections during morning assembly.

"Yep, I'll let Mom know," Lloyd replied, squeezing her hand. "Let's actually get to stargazing, shall we? Come on, I reserved the mat with the best telescope. The..."

Colette let Lloyd ramble on about the specifications of the telescope as he guided her towards their destination. It was always endearing to hear him talk about the topics he loved, whether it be the ocean or the stars. His words would get faster as he went on, until he was barely intelligible as all the syllables clumped together, without him even noticing. She didn’t want to interrupt him, though, much preferring to just watch him as a smile inevitably grew on her face.

"Right! Get comfortable!" Lloyd said, having completed his spiel and coming to an abrupt stop. Colette stumbled a few steps forward, so engrossed in listening to Lloyd that she'd nearly tripped. He gestured towards the deep blue mat stuffed with foam, placing his cup next to it before crouching to adjust the sleek black telescope, nimble fingers flying from knobs to levers. His face was scrunched up in concentration, focussed entirely on his task.

Colette dumped her school bag down and kicked off her school shoes, leaving her feet clad in white socks, and scrambled onto the mat, lying down on it. Lloyd joined her soon after, having finished whatever preparations he was doing, sidling closer on the mat so that his shoulder pressed against hers as they both stared up into the night sky, now completely dark. In the distance, Colette could see the lighted-up M sign on the business complex.

“We can look at the stars first before we use the telescope to find the planets. What do you see, right now?”

"Um, well… I can only see one star in the sky," Colette muttered, pointing out the lone, twinkling presence. It was common knowledge that there was too much light pollution to actually see any of the vast galaxies and planets that were scattered throughout the universe. The most Colette had ever seen at once when looking out at the sky from the balcony of her apartment was three stars, dimly shining and far away from each other. They were hundreds of light-years away, unreachable and yet still shining their light for all to see.

"No, there's more. It's a really clear sky tonight, and we can see so much!" Lloyd replied eagerly. The starry-eyed enthusiasm had returned to his eyes, seeming to burrow straight into her heart. Pointing up into a particular patch of sky, he said, "There! Do you see the top of the Big Dipper?"

"Ah..." She tried to follow the line of his arm but didn't spot any hidden stars, shaking her head. "No...? The Big Dipper is the one that looks like a frying pan, right?" It was one of the many constellations that Lloyd had taught her while on his impassioned rambles about astrology. Ever since he'd picked up that one book on constellations from the library in primary school, he'd been obsessed with stars. She could still fondly remember the first time he had talked about it. She'd plopped down in front of him at the canteen table after school, asking what he was reading. He'd shut the book and told her about white dwarfs, planetary systems and the Milky Way for a full five minutes while she listened in awed silence. She'd rarely seen him this excited over anything. Lloyd had been about to continue before shutting his mouth abruptly, flushing as he realised how long he had gone on for and apologising for running her ear off. She'd told him that she didn't mind listening to him - there was something soothing about it, really, listening to his voice and watching his excited mannerisms.

"You remember?" Lloyd craned his neck so that he was facing her. There was something in the depths of those eyes that stared back at her. Something which, for the past two years, she would spot occasionally. And yet she still couldn’t put a name to it.

Somehow, how truly close they were hadn’t registered in her mind until this very moment. If she inched forward just a little, their noses would bump.

But they’d been this close so many times before. Why was this time so different?

Or, more accurately, what had changed in the past year? Why couldn’t she be this close without something in her clicking, filling her with a warmth that was both familiar but foreign? Why were her palms starting to sweat, her heart starting to race? It felt like she was about to give a presentation to a room full of strangers.

But that wasn't the case. She was just next to Lloyd, her oldest friend and the person she trusted most in the world.

Perhaps recently she had been noticing more tiny things she hadn't before, staring at him for just a little longer than she used to - how his hair fell into his eyes on days where he didn’t bother to comb or style his hair, how there was a dimple only on the right side of his mouth, how his hair could vary in shade under different lighting, from a golden brown to dark chocolate. It even appeared red sometimes.

She felt like she was at the cusp of a discovery.

"Of - of course I remember." Colette stumbled over the words, averting her gaze up towards the night sky. "You've been working on the notes for this club for so long, and I helped you with them! So of course I'd remember."

"That's true. We did spend a lot of late nights on those." Lloyd chuckled. "Remember all the pillow fights?"

"Yeah, I do. You always let me win, you cheater," she grumbled, glad for the light-hearted change in topic to distract from her confusing feelings. "But I'm happy everything worked out and you managed to get the club set up! You've worked really hard on all this. You deserve the success."

"I couldn't have done it without you, really," Lloyd retorted, taking gentle hold of her wrist. "And I know I've thanked you already, but let me just say it again. Thank you. In return, I'll do my best to show you as much as I can!" Lloyd pointed her arm towards a point in the sky. "There. Look closely. Do you see it now?"

She focussed on that spot, squinting in hopes that the secrets of the night sky would be revealed to her. "Oh!" Colette exclaimed. She could see it now, just barely - a faint source of light. There was a lonely little star, shining as brightly as it could, just enough to be noticeable but going unseen by the unobservant eye.

"You got it!" Lloyd cheered, beginning to slowly guide her hand to trace out a shape - that familiar pan shape he’d drawn for her so many times. His fingers, wrapped around her wrist, were so warm... "Now do you see the Big Dipper?"

"You're right," she said in amazement. The pattern had been there all along. How many more were waiting to be found, causing the sky to come to life before her very eyes?

"There are so many beautiful constellations to find in the sky." Lloyd grinned. Dimly lit by the gentle light of the night sky, far from the harsh fluorescent lights of the classroom and the often blinding rays of the sun, his features seemed softer than ever, and she had the urge to just... reach out and touch his face. Splay her fingers on his cheek, rest her forehead against his, let the strands of his hair fall through her fingers…

"Yeah..." She glanced back up at the night sky. She could spot the Little Dipper now, glimmering. Already, she was discovering new things.

When she glanced back, Lloyd was staring at her with a wistful expression, the arm not holding hers held stiffly against his side, like he was aching to reach out but was holding himself back.

The moment was gone, as quickly as it had come, and Lloyd's face once again sported a happy smile, like nothing of significance had happened. Perhaps she had imagined the whole thing. But in just a few seconds, the entire centre of her world had shifted, throwing her irreversibly off balance.

Her chest felt constricted, like she couldn't breathe properly, that strange sensation back in her heart again.

But it would be a lie to say she hadn’t figured out what it was. She had fallen into the unfamiliar pit of love, just as she had always wanted. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say she had fallen a long time ago, but had only just realised she wasn’t standing on solid ground any longer.

She had found The One. Finally.

So why... Why had nothing changed at all?

It was no longer possible to convince herself that she could be just like everyone else. Not when she was acutely aware of how stupidly immature she was compared to everyone else, always cringing away from the thought of sex. Whether it be skipping raunchy scenes in books or shows, avoiding popular pop songs with explicit lyrics, or promptly deciding to stop listening whenever her classmates decided it was a good time to talk about it. She couldn't rid herself of nausea that would roil in her stomach. But... that was wrong, wasn't it?

If she loved someone, she was supposed to desire them. That's what happened in all the stories - people fell in love, and then they happily had sex with each other. It was everywhere. In every book, in every show. Even the terrible sex-ed lessons had parroted that a happy relationship was one with healthy amounts of sex. Everyone was going to have sex at some point once they got into a relationship, to want to have it and to eagerly give it. But she didn't. She had never felt the same way. And that was her truth, the one that went unregarded by others.

Or maybe her truth was that she was just broken. That something had shattered inside of her a long time ago, and now she couldn't be put back together, couldn't feel what she was supposed to, what others did. And she didn't know what to do about it.

No matter how much she hated the idea of sex, someday she’d have to force herself to go through with it. After all, it was a requisite for a relationship. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be worthy of love, and she didn’t love her partner enough. She owed it to whoever her partner was, even if one day it ended up being Lloyd. This was her fault, after all. No one else was broken in the same way as her.

It would just be like… forcing herself to eat her vegetables when she was younger, wincing over the yucky taste until she got used to it. Nothing more. Easy.

Maybe then she’d finally get it.

Maybe then everything would magically fix itself.

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes which she willed to disappear. She felt like the stars above. Shining alone, so far away from any other companion, looking down upon a world that was too far away to understand. All alone. Always all alone.

"Too bad we can't see more here in the city. One day, I promise, we'll see the real starry sky together! The galaxies, the planets, the suns... All of it. It'll be amazing," Lloyd continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil. Because even he could not read her mind.

Colette folded her hands over her stomach, closing her eyes. The enormity of the emotion beating in her heart absolutely terrified her, as did the thought of the future and what awaited her. Could she ever act on these feelings? Would she ever be deserving of acting on them, inadequate as she was? Did she even really love him?

There was no use in agonising over these thoughts, for no answers would ever be found.

"I'd like that," she whispered, squeezing his hand. She was more than willing to just enjoy his company for now. Her dearest friend.

“I’ll show you the rest of the stars that are visible today! Then we can look into the telescope and see the nebula. I’ve already pointed it in the right direction! You won’t want to miss it, it’s incredible! Over there is…”

So long as she could remain with him, everything would be alright.

~~~

“Bye, Lloyd!” Ella said, waving as she sprinted out of the club room. “Have a safe trip home!”

“You too!” he called out after her, as loud as he could without waking up Colette. Her head was resting on his lap, the hair she had freed from her ponytail forming a golden sea that swallowed his legs. Her arms were still wrapped tightly around the huge penguin plush that acted as the club’s unofficial mascot. He couldn’t for the life of him recall where it’d come from.

How did he always end up being Colette’s pillow? Not that he was complaining…

Lloyd ran a gentle hand through Colette’s hair, making sure not to awaken her. Mom would take another 20 minutes to arrive at the drop-off point, so he might as well let Colette continue to sleep. After all, he still had to clean up and lock up the room. At least Colette had helped him with most of it.

He moved his hand rhythmically, watching her minute facial movements. What dream was she having right now? Was it a happy one? He hoped it was. He wanted nothing more than to see a truly happy smile on her face every day, and that was the root of the feelings that had built up over years.

In the ensuing silence, he couldn’t help but think back.

What had happened while he was showing her the stars? There had been a period of time when she had seemed to withdraw into herself, becoming far quieter than she usually was. Almost contemplative. Even a little sad.

She had been back to normal afterwards, cheerful with her large smiles and bright laughter. He didn’t know how to question her about it, didn’t know how to even start the conversation. He wanted to find out, so he could help, in any way he could.

But… No matter how much he hated it, he could only wait. After all, if whatever was weighing on her was simple, she would have told him already. He could only hope she’d be able to tell him about what was troubling her, someday.

And he would wait. For as long as needed…

~~~

26-years-old

Lloyd set the rental car in reverse, slowly backing it up into the empty lot in the mostly deserted car park, the wheels crunching against gravel. Turning off the engine, he pulled the keys out of the ignition and stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans. Glancing over at the seat next to him revealed that Colette was peacefully asleep, head lolling onto her shoulder. Somehow, the abrupt bump in the road some ten minutes ago hadn't woken her up.

This was their second day in Melbourne to celebrate their honeymoon. Dad and Mom had come here for their honeymoon too, but maybe some things become a tradition for a reason. He and Colette had followed a strict itinerary, taking some advice from his parents when planning where to go. They had visited the fisheries for lunch yesterday, where Colette had sung the praises of the fish fillet, absolutely delighted at its freshness, which could never be experienced at home. Following which, they had driven to Phillip island to catch the nightly penguin parade, Colette cooing over all the little penguins waddling home. It was a cute sight - both the penguins and Colette.

It was the middle of winter, the temperature just shy of needing actual winter gear but cold enough that they were both wearing turtlenecks, not accustomed to the winter winds. A bit of a shame, actually. He would have loved to witness the adorable sight of Colette in a beanie that covered her ears, cheeks flushed from the cold and fingers housed in fluffy gloves. But alas, that sight would only remain in his imagination until they travelled to a country with much colder weather.

The car journey had been silent, Colette alternating between staring at the rare car that passed them on the narrow dirt roads, or doodling on her phone with a stylus, occasionally letting out a tiny giggle. As they had agreed upon, she had stopped looking out of the window for the last leg of their journey, which was close to a whole hour. At some point she had stopped making conversation with him, soft snores replacing the sound of her voice as the quiet night and hours of travelling had finally taken their toll.

He reached out a hand to hover over her shoulder, hesitating. He didn’t want to disrupt her rest, but she wouldn’t be seeing anything if she didn’t wake up, and that would render all his effort to transport the two of them into the remote meaningless. He had no choice.

“Colette.” He called her name softly, gently shaking her shoulder until she let out a tiny sigh. Her eyes fluttered open, still filled with sleepiness.

“We’re here. It’s time to get out of the car,” he said, grabbing hold of the strands of her hair that had fallen into her face during her sleep and tucking them behind her ear.

“Oh. Thanks for waking me up.” Colette yawned, covering her mouth with her hand as she stretched, trying to shake the sleep out of her system. “I need to cover my eyes while I get out, right?” she said, covering her eyes with her palms and giggling, doing exactly as they’d discussed without question. “I can’t look until you say so! Can’t spoil the surprise now, right?”

“Perfect! I’ll help you out of the car. Wait there.”

Lloyd stepped out of the car, shutting the door and running over to her side. He opened the passenger-side door, grabbing hold of her bent arms.

"Carefully now," he muttered, slowly helping Colette out of the car and steadying her when she stumbled slightly onto the gravel. Taking a stronger hold around her arm, he began to guide her across the carpark towards a small hill, walking backwards and taking the occasional peek behind his shoulder to get a gauge for where he was going. With each step they took, the loose bits of gravel under their feet were kicked aside.

The grassy hill was a little harder to go up backwards, but he persevered. The grass was wet with dew, starting to wet the hem of his jeans as they brushed the skin of his ankles. Colette was completely silent, seemingly holding her breath in anticipation of the big reveal.

The trip out here had been exceedingly long, for this place truly was off the beaten path. He could count the number of people here with the fingers on one hand. But he could certainly say the trip had been worth it. Just sneaking a peek upwards was enough to make up for everything. This place really lived up to all the praise it had been given online.

Making sure they had a wonderful view of the sky, Lloyd came to a stop, turning Colette by the shoulders so she was facing the right direction. "You can look now," he whispered into her ear, tapping her shoulder and stepping back.

Colette uncovered her eyes and let out an audible gasp, transfixed by the night sky. They were far from civilization, so distant that there were no artificial lights to interfere with the natural dance of the stars. Laid out above them were millions of stars, clustered together and twinkling in unity. Swirls of pink and purple denoted the galaxies, resembling little bits of cotton candy painted onto the black canvas of the sky, interspersed with tiny dots that represented planets. The entire universe was spread out before their eyes to witness, splendid and magnificent.

He watched as she raised an arm, tracing the skies slowly. It almost seemed like her index finger was trailing stardust. He wouldn't be surprised if she actually was, since she was already pure magic in every other way.

She turned to face him, the starlight reflecting in her wide eyes and off the ring on her left hand, painting her as a more beautiful sight than even the gorgeous skies above him.

"You remembered!" she exclaimed, running over to throw her arms around him, knocking him back slightly as she smiled up at him. Thankfully, they were nowhere near the edge of the incline, or they would have gone tumbling down a long way. This close, he was even more reminded of her untouchable beauty: her shimmering blue eyes were breathtaking. "You kept your promise."

Colette moved her arms so they were wrapped behind his neck. She was practically hanging off of him; his gaze focussed on her smiling face.

"Well, I wanted to see it too." He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to press a kiss on her forehead. "And I always do my best to keep my promises."

I promised that I would never leave you, and I will keep that promise. No matter what.

“They’re all together now. They’re not alone anymore,” Colette said, "Thank you." She rested her head against his shoulder, his hands automatically shifting to her back, holding her close. "I love you."

She said those words so easily now, without the hesitance that had bogged her down at the beginning. He knew not all of her fears and insecurities were gone - maybe they never would be, and all they could do was reassure each other. There were the terrible nights where she would sob next to him and admit she felt like a fraud for being unable to give him sexual intimacy, crying that she wasn't enough and that he deserved so much more. All he could do was hold her in his arms and whisper into her hair that it was alright, that he loved her, that he didn’t care. But as time went on, those nights became less frequent, until they were few and far between. Besides, she did give him pieces of that intimacy, whenever she could - the gift he cherished, for it truly meant the world coming from her.

"I love you too. Picture?" he offered, holding up his phone. He wanted to create a physical memory of this magical moment, one that they could preserve forever.

Besides, if his parents didn’t get a photo, they would probably murder him. Mom, at least. So would Sheena, with Zelos’ snickering as an accompaniment to the crime. He wouldn’t live to see another day once he got back home.

"Of course," she replied. And he hoped the picture would be able to capture her bright smile, that which was most precious to him.

~~~

The picture they took would become a cherished memento, to be displayed on their nightstand forever - Colette pressing a kiss to his cheek, even as she gave him bunny ears, both of their faces lit up with large smiles.

~~~

Next chapter

#fanfiction #tales of symphonia #multi chapter #colloyd #colloydweek2021 #day 4: stargazing #colette brunel #lloyd irving

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wordsandshawn · 4 years ago

Text

Drunk on a Sunset | 4 #ShawnMendesWritingCircle

ANNNDDDD WE’RE BACK! Huge shoutout as always to @saysweartogod-og for organizing this. I really enjoyed writing this next part of this amazing story created originally by @mendesficsxbombay. I hope you all enjoy this part. I’m so excited to read the next parts of all the stories I’ve fallen in love with.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

ShawnMendesWritingCircle Masterlist

word count: 1.5k

Shawn was given a choice and he clearly didn’t choose you. Between leaving that morning when he thought you were still sleeping after you spent the night together following your birthday party to cozying up to Alessia shortly after, Shawn clearly is not interested in you. He basically acted like the night you spent together meant nothing and didn’t even happen. Every part of you knows all the reasons why you should just get over it, keep pretending to be busier than you are and create space in order to keep things professional, but that doesn’t change the fact that it hurts. Your heart aches, and you feel all alone, like there is no one to turn to.

The one person who you felt comfortable enough to talk to about all of this was Alessia, but after seeing her with Shawn, you don’t feel safe enough to talk to her either. You have never felt more alone on tour than you have since seeing Shawn and Alessia talking, practically leaning into each other. Instead of letting yourself feel all the feelings of wanting someone you cannot have, you throw yourself into your work, keeping busier than you need to be and working yourself harder than necessary, all so you can avoid the uncomfortable experience of real emotions.

Shawn wanted to run after you, when you saw him sitting with Alessia. He wanted to explain he was just trying to get some advice because he didn’t know how to bring up that night, because he didn’t know how to tell you that you’re the only one he’s thinking of and you somehow make him feel so insecure because he sees you and how effortlessly wonderful you are. He sees your genuine kindness, your attention to detail, and your ability to connect with people, and he can’t help but feel like you’re too good for this world. You’re too good for him. He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re the only person he wants, and it’s been like that for a long time.

He tried following you, but you disappeared into the women’s restroom without even glancing back to see him chasing after you, and then Cez materialized, seemingly out of nowhere to tell Shawn that he needed to get backstage immediately if he didn’t want to be mauled by fans entering the arena. So, Shawn numbly changes directions and disappears backstage and into his dressing room leaving you alone in the bathroom thinking he never even attempted to follow you.

The next time Shawn sees you, the only way he can think to describe your behavior is cold. You only tell him the information you needed to, not even bothering with any pleasantries or lighthearted conversation, and then you’re gone before he can even attempt to start a conversation. He’s left alone because you’re gone so quickly, and for the second time, he wants to chase after you, but he doesn’t.

Maybe you don’t feel the same way about him, but Shawn is so tired of analyzing your every move, word, breath, and trying to make sense of it all. He’s tired of wondering what you’re thinking and if you think about him at all. He’s tired of the way that even when you’re acting cold to him, practically ignoring him, he can’t help but feel drawn to you, pulled in by your presence.

Shawn finally made a decision. He is going to tell you how he feels about you. He’s going to talk about that night, to ask if you remember it at all and mostly to tell you how stupid he was for leaving before you even woke up. He has already gone over the potential conversation in his mind a hundred times. He’ll tell you that he regretted it, that not a moment has gone by since that he hasn’t regretted it and wondered what might have happened if he had stayed instead. He thinks about what it could have been like to watch you wake up. Sleepy snuggles, getting coffee and having breakfast. He thinks about the possibilities, the what if’s.

Shawn’s tired of the ache in his chest, of watching the girl he loves go on like he doesn’t exist, and if you don’t feel the same way, then he’ll learn to live with it, but he’ll have to hear the words from your mouth so that he can finally move on and know how you feel. He needs to know for sure.

Shawn made this resolve in his bed on the bus at one am, three days after you saw him talking to Alessia. When he emerges from his slumber, or more like hibernation at ten am the next day, he hasn’t changed his mind. He’s just waiting for the right moment, a time to get you alone and not take no for an answer when he asks if you have time to talk. Five minutes, that’s all he’s going to ask for. Just five minutes to pour his heart out to the girl who already owns his soul without even knowing. Five minutes to put it all out there for you to potentially crush him. The thought of rejection hurts, but the thought of going on like this hurts even worse.

If you were anyone else, he wouldn’t even put himself in this situation. Truthfully, he hasn’t found himself in this situation before. He’s so used to being the person on the receiving end of declarations of love. He’s used to sneaking out of a hotel room in the early hours of the morning before they wake up. He’s not used to regretting it.

Shawn goes about his morning, all the while keeping an eye out for you, the anticipation building. He’s waiting to get a glimpse of you running by or waiting to see a text from you letting him know some piece of information he’ll probably forget shortly after only to have you remind him again, but the text doesn’t come, and he doesn’t see you. It’s nearing showtime. He’s already done the soundcheck, and he thinks, probably for the fiftieth time today, where are you?

He finally asks Andrew about you.

“She left.” Andrew responds, getting ready to walk away as though that was answer enough, but it’s not. Not even close. Shawn’s mind is spinning at those two words. What does he mean? How could you have left? How did he not know about it? Why?

“What do you mean? Where did she go? Why?” Shawn sputters questions out. Was it something he did? Are you mad at him? Did you quit?

Andrew doesn’t seem to be experiencing any of the same panicked emotions Shawn is. He doesn’t seem to feel the urgency of the situation. He’s busy sending a text or reading an email or something on his goddamn phone and he’s not paying attention to Shawn. Shawn wants to take Andrew by the shoulders and shake him to get his attention, to get answers to the pressing questions.

Cez appears at that moment, interrupting Shawn’s attempt at interrogation, not that Andrew even really noticed. “Shawn you’re supposed to be in your dressing room. The band’s getting ready to go onstage and they’re looking for you.”

“Wait--” Shawn tries, but Cez’s urgency rivals Shawn’s.

Dave pops his head out of the dressing room, saying, “Shawn we wanted to talk to you about Mutual before we get onstage.”

Shawn knows he has a job to do, so as much as he wants to grill Andrew to get information, as much as he’s wondering how you could leave without even saying goodbye, how you could leave without him knowing, he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Working with his band and finding a way to gather enough energy to step onstage soon.

While walking to the stage less than an hour later, he asks Cez about you, about why you left and where you went and why it was so sudden, but Cez says he has no idea. He didn’t even know you left. Andrew seems to be the only one who knows, and Shawn doesn’t see Andrew before he steps onstage, plastering a smile on his face and praying the energy from the crowd is enough to get him through.

The entire time Shawn stands on that stage, he feels like he’s faking it, just going through the motions because even as he sings the lyrics he knows so well, his mind is only with you. Given the chance, he’d run offstage to badger Andrew for information and then catch a flight to wherever you went. He needs to talk to you, but he doesn’t know where you are. Just like after you ran off after seeing him with Alessia, and just like earlier tonight when he was called into his dressing room, he makes the logical decision and puts his career first, remaining onstage, but regretting it the entire time.

#Shawn Mendes Writing Circle #Shawn Peter Raul Mendes #Shawn Mendes #Shawn Mendes imagine #Shawn Mendes fic

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aphrodites-law · 5 years ago

Text

Your Secret

It was 3:20pm and the stairwell was quiet. Clarke waited at their usual spot, right between the sixth and seventh floors where there were no cameras. She ran a hand through her hair, her stomach in knots. Lexa was never late. Something must’ve distracted her, but Clarke told herself to stick it out for just another minute.

Her heart leapt when she heard a door open and close a few floors above. She held her breath at the footsteps that thundered down the stairs. When Lexa finally reached the last set of stairs, their eyes met and she hurried down.

Lexa kissed her immediately and Clarke welcomed it, a moan escaping her when her back hit the cold wall.

“God, where were you?” she asked, eyes closing when Lexa started kissing down her neck.

“Intern needed to talk about his hours,” Lexa mumbled, then looked down at her outfit. “This top, Clarke.”

“Do you like it?”

“No. I want it on the floor.” Lexa kissed her again and cupped her breasts, squeezing just when their tongues brushed.

Clarke grinned against her impatient mouth. “Maybe tonight. If you’re good.”

“There’s no one here.”

“Oh but what would HR say?” Clarke asked innocently, reaching down to pull at the hem of Lexa’s business pants.

Lexa looked drunk, her eyes hooded and her cheeks rosy.

“HR is greatly enthusiastic about this plan.”

“I’ll bet.”

Clarke cupped the back of her neck and allowed their next kiss to go on for a dangerously long time, until Lexa’s hands found their way beneath her skirt and she had the sense to pull back.

“Wasn’t this weekend enough?” she managed to ask, breathless.

Lexa’s eyes remained closed as she licked her own bottom lip, tasting Clarke. “I could never get enough of you.”

“You’re very romantic when you’re turned on.”

Lexa opened her eyes then, her smile making Clarke’s heart race.

“Only then?”

“Pretty much. It’s all grunts and monosyllables with you otherwise.”

“Did we not soak in your tub with candles and wine two days ago?”

Clarke laughed. “Case in point: you were clearly trying to get into my bathrobe afterward.”

“Hmm, my finest victory.” Lexa kissed her cheek and then rested her forehead on Clarke’s shoulder, finding solace in this secret moment.

“Long day?” Clarke asked, running her hand through Lexa’s hair.

“Not enough sleep these days,” Lexa mumbled.

“Oh, well, I have a remedy for that…”

Lexa shook her head. “I don’t like your remedy.”

Clarke hummed in acknowledgment. “But you know, for the sake of our cognitive skills, maybe we should... take a night off from the ridiculous amount of sex.”

Lexa groaned against her shoulder, which only renewed Clarke’s laughter.

“See, there you go being non-verbal again.”

“Three months, Clarke.”

“I know.”

“Three months in Anchorage.”

“So you’ve said all weekend.”

“Alaska, Clarke.”

“I love when you talk geography.”

“I need all the heat I can get. Commit to memory what sweating feels like before I’m shipped off to my own personal iceberg.”

Clarke smiled. “Corporate-paid studio with a gorgeous view, but iceberg works too I guess.”

“Are you done mocking my plight?” Lexa sighed dramatically.

“Yes.” Clarke fixed the collar of Lexa’s blouse. “Come over tonight.”

“What happened to catching up on sleep?”

“Well, I’ll be hibernating for three months.”

“Hm that’s a bit long. Will you brush your teeth before I wake you up with a kiss?”

“Shut up, ass.”

“Is that an order?” Lexa asked smugly.

Clarke pressed on Lexa’s chest to push her away. “A threat actually. I know someone very high placed in HR.”

“Whoever it is, they sound very easy to bribe. And terrible at their job.”

“Oh she’s a sucker for a good kiss.”

Lexa looked at her lips. “I don’t believe you.”

Clarke did not back down from a challenge. She took a step closer and kissed her slowly, the quick brush of tongue not nearly enough to satiate Lexa but appropriately restrained for now. It was soft, sensual - every bit what Lexa needed to get through three more hours of work.

“See?” Clarke asked softly against her mouth.

Lexa seemed in a daze for a minute before she stepped back. “Hmm. Right. I have to go before my interns start crying.”

“Please, Raven told me you’re a sweetheart with them.”

“She’s lying. I’m strict. Commanding.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Okay, Commander, maybe you can show me how much of a hardass you are tonight.”

“It’s a date.”

The word had an unintended effect on Clarke, and for the briefest moment, one too quick for Lexa to notice, her smile fell. It wasn’t a date. That wasn’t something they did. Not how Lexa actually defined the time they spent together, anyway. Clarke understood it. Seven years married and bitterly divorced just a year ago, Lexa was a cautious creature. Loving but not in love. Not to mention their secret—the sneaking around—and what was at stake in both their professional lives.

Lexa pushed Clarke’s hair behind her ear. “Where did you go?”

Clarke shook her head. “Nowhere.”

I love you, she thought to herself, but what came out aloud was- “I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll see you first,” Lexa smiled. She kissed her lips before going up the stairs with a heavy sigh, leaving Clarke staring at her watch for exactly a minute before she headed up to her own floor.

#clexa #clarke x lexa #clexa fic #crossing an ocean today; have a bus drabble #w #f: your secret

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rubbishrobots · 4 years ago

Text

I wrote a Doctor Who story for Christmas

It's been a funny old year. High highs and low lows. My brain processes everything in terms of Doctor Who, so I thought I'd write a little story about a crap Christmas.

Doctor Who - “The Best Of it”

The drop in air pressure was first detected on December 24th. About 3% approximately every 5 hours, which might not seem like that big of a drop, but when you’re in a big research base right down at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, any air pressure escaping is a bit of a big deal.

And so I found myself, on Christmas Eve, in a big clunky OxySuit, lumbering around upon the sea floor at the deepest point in the Earth’s Ocean. I moved around the outer walls of Cameron Base One with great difficulty, pushing my limbs forward through the high-pressure water, the headlamps on either side of my helmet providing minimal light.

Reaching the West Wing of the base, the first thing I saw were the cracks in the floor. It began right where the wall of the base touched the ground, and then snaked out and broke off until the ground in front of me looked like a shatter pattern. This was an alarming sight, to say the least. It meant that the ground which Cameron Base One sat on, that the crew walked across, was unstable. I would have turned around immediately and gone to raise the alarm. But I didn’t.

Because the second thing I noticed was the tall, blue phone box. With a lamp on top and two square windows that sent wavy shimmers of light wafting through the ocean. It was right at the furthest reaches of the cracks in the floor. I wondered how the hell it had got there.

Of course, then I was plummeting through one of the cracks that opened up at my feet, so there wasn’t much else I could do except fall.

I only remember bits of my plummet, so it’s hard to describe now. But it was like being on a pitch black water slide that you fully expected to die at the end of. Something had struck the lights on my helmet almost immediately so I couldn’t see a darn thing, but my stomach twisted and turned, which told me I was being tossed to and fro. Then I remember a tiny bit of light approaching fast, and an impact. Then nothing.

Nothing until I was blinking awake in a dimly lit cave, and there was a woman peering down at me.

“What size shoe do you take?” she asked.

I stared at the fractured image of her through the cracked glass of my helmet. She had short yellow hair, a long pale blue coat, and a t shirt with a rainbow stripe across it. She waited expectantly for me to answer.

“I’m Ellie Tyson, Chief Engineer at Cameron Base One,” I said, unsure what else but name and rank was appropriate in this conversation.

“I’m the Doctor,” the woman replied. “I just knock about space, really. You alright?”

She helped me to my feet and out of my OxySuit. I was bumped and bruised, and the jumpsuit I wore beneath the suit was a bit scuffed, but I was otherwise okay and able to survey my surroundings. The cave was not spacious. There were small tea light candles dotted about, and a steady drip of water coming from the breach in the ceiling that I must have fallen through.

“Right! Welcome, welcome,” said the Doctor. “Let me show you around. I’d say this is the living area over here.” She gestured to the left side of the cave, where a fireplace had been drawn on the uneven rock wall. “But to be honest, it’s a bit of a studio apartment situation.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked, eyeing the crudely illustrated roaring fire and wondering if this was the sign of stir craziness.

“About a week. Been surviving on rations.” She held up a box of dried raisins. “And a few bits I had in my coat pockets to keep me busy.” On the floor of the cave, there was the aforementioned candles, a pack of crayons, a pair of knitting needles and some wool, and a tourist pamphlet for the Blue Man Group. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any food in that big clunky diving suit?”

I shook my head no. The only thing in the utility belt section of the suit was some bandages, medical tape, and a flare. None of which struck me as particularly edible.

“No hope of escape?” I asked, fearing the answer.

“Well, not until now.” She started walking to the mouth of the cave. “Come on, then.”

I followed. There were no candles in the long, narrow passageway she crept down, but the Doctor had a metallic remote thingy that was giving off an orange glow, and she rooted around her pockets until she found a small torch she could toss to me.

“So full disclosure,” said the Doctor, “I got knocked silly on the way down. Consequently, I was half unconscious for like the first 3 days, but as soon as I was able to, I did a bit of exploring. Didn’t get very far. There’s a massive wall just up ahead that proved to be a big fat dead end for me.”

I frowned. “So why are we bothering?”

The Doctor waved a hand impatiently. “You’ll see in a min. Anyway, I knew someone else was bound to fall down the same hole I did, it being next to a massive human science-y base thing.”

The word ‘human’ got caught on some filters in my head, but I moved past it. “Nobody else knows. They sent me out to see why we were having air pressure problems.”

“Exactly, so I knew it was only a matter of time till I had a mate. That reminds me, what size shoe did you say you took?”

“I didn’t, and we have much bigger problems. If the ground up there is this unstable, the whole crew of Cameron Base One could be in real danger.”

The Doctor pulled a face. “I’m working on that! Give us a chance.”

“Except you’re not working on it – you’ve been down here a week and you’re no closer to escaping. Now I’m stuck down here too. The whole base could collapse any second and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You literally just told me the only passageway leads to a dead end!”

“No,” the Doctor corrected. “I said it was a dead end for me.” We came to the huge wall she’d spoken off. It was about twice our height, but it did not reach the roof of the cave passage. There was a sizeable space at the top of the wall, and beyond that some source of light could be seen blinking on and off from out of view. In the torchlight, the Doctor grinned with great satisfaction. “See? All I needed was someone to give me a boost. I’ll go first and pull you up after. Don’t worry, I’m dead nimble in this body.”

The brain filter picked up that last weird comment too, but I didn’t have time to question. I laced my fingers and let the Doctor put her dirty boots in the palm of my hands, whereupon I heaved her high enough for her to grab something to hold onto and pull herself, and then me after, up onto the raised ground.

Wiping the muck off of my knees, I stood up and looked at where we’d ascended to. The sight before me made no sense. For at the top of this ledge, in this cavern deep down in the Earth’s crust, were a large pair of steel doors with a blinking control panel next to it.

“Oh, brilliant!” said the Doctor. She rushed towards it, aimed her metallic torch thingy at it, and I was amazed to see the doors rumble and draw themselves open. There was a great cloud of dust as they parted.

“These doors must have been sat closed for a good amount of time, then,” I coughed, as I followed the Doctor through the doorway.

On the other side, the Doctor stood dead still. “A very long time,” she said.

If the sight of steel doors had shocked me, it was nothing compared to the room of cryogenically frozen lizard people I was looking at now.

In this laboratory the length of a football pitch, there were rows and rows of pods, half metallic, half rock formations, and each of them contained a bipedal, human-sized lizard. There was frost on the glass of the pods, and they were cold to my touch. The creatures inside had not stirred a bit during our entrance or my examining of their containers. Astonished, I turned to the Doctor, hoping to gain some comfort in a shared vibe of ‘not knowing what the hell was going on.’

So imagine my surprise when I found her gazing at the cyro-pods in delight. “This works out perfectly.”

Silurians, she called them. I dropped to a seated position, probably going into some form of shock, while she paced around the room and ranted about the civilisation that walked the Earth eons before humans evolved (“Eons,” she paused to grin at me. “Love that word. Eons!”). Apparently they saw an asteroid approaching, and evacuated deep underground, putting themselves in stasis until such time as the damage from any impact would have passed. She’d moved over to a raised console built into a slab of rock and had been tinkering with the controls for a good minute before she realise I still hadn’t spoken.

“Soz, that was probably a bit of an overload, wasn’t it? Which bit did I lose you on?”

“The lizards who ruled the earth before humans,” I said softly.

The Doctor’s nose scrunched up in confusion. “Really? That bit makes sense, if you think about it.”

“In what universe does a secret society of Lizards frozen beneath the Mariana Trench make sense?!”

“Well that’s where all those daft stories about the Illuminati come from. It’s just people stumbling across all the different Silurian hibernation chambers and letting their imagination run wild.”

That did actually make a little bit of sense, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of saying so, so I just stayed silent.

“Anyway,” she said, turning back to the controls. “Cheer up, this means there’s probably a way out of here.” That got my attention. I leapt to my feet and came to her side, staring at the panel of strange, unlabelled controls. “The Silurians tunnelled all the way down here, and they were obviously planning to return at some point. So logic says there must be a way out. A lift, or a teleport, or something.” She gasped. “Could be a massive ladder!”

“I’m not climbing a ladder out of the Mariana Trench, Doctor.”

She looked about to respond, but then a shrill, angry bleeping noise erupted from the console. The Doctor stuck her tongue out thoughtfully, the pressed some other buttons, only to be greeted with the same angry bleeping noise. She then tried pointing her metallic object at the controls, but the bleeping noise sounded again. The Doctor glared at the console panel. “Well, now you’re just being difficult.”

“Doctor,” I said, pointing to a small indent in the bottom corner of the console, that looked something like a fingerprint scanner. “It must need, I dunno, authorisation or something.”

I should have noticed the Doctor’s falling expression as she stared at what I’d pointed out. “Oh,” she said, and I should have noticed it was without her usual pep. “That’s a blow.”

Maybe I didn’t want to notice any of it. I was already looking around at which of the Silurians was closest. “So will we need to fully wake them up, or can we just sort of drag one over and then put it back?”

The Doctor turned to me. Her expression was grave. I turned my back on her and marched quickly over to one of the pods so I could pretend to be having a look. “And can it be any old one or does it need to be, like, a Boss or a President or a Mayor? I don’t know what the Silurian political hierarchy was like, was it like ours?”

“Ellie…” said the Doctor. “We can’t. The Silurians wouldn’t understand. They’d want to come back to the surface with us, and they can’t. The Earth isn’t ready for them yet.”

The trip back to the cave was awkward. I walked ahead, in silence. I heard the scuff of the Doctor’s boots behind me, and I felt her worried gaze on my back. And when we got back to the cave, I sat in the corner and didn’t look at her.

I was going to die down here. At Christmas. And everyone in that base above us had no idea they were walking and working on ground that could crumble awake at any second.

And worst of all, the only company I had, the person with which I was to perish, was a buffoon. At a certain point I had to break my sulk and look up at the Doctor, because I could sense her constantly moving and wondered how the hell she could be finding so much to do in a tiny little cave at the bottom of the planet.

Watching her, I still didn’t know. She was rummaging inside her coat pocket for a while, eventually fishing out old Quality Street sweet wrappers of red, green and gold. At one point, I heard her squeak with delight and drop down to examine something in the dirt and soil of the cave floor. When she began to draw more cave paintings and hum merrily to herself, I could take no more. I briefly considered digging the medical tape out of my suit and using it to seal her mouth shut.

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked instead.

She glanced at me over her shoulder. “I’m making the best of it!” she said, and moved aside so that I could see. Next to her 2D fireplace, she had scrawled a Christmas Tree on the wall, with scribbled baubles and doodled tinsel. And now she was humming White Christmas. “We might be stuck down here with no hope of escape. But it’s still Christmas.”

I stared in disbelief. “Are you for real? It is not Christmas.”

She did that nose-scrunch thing again. “I mean, it sort of is.”

“It is Christmas on a technicality!” I yelled. “It is Christmas only in the sense that the date is December 24th. Our current predicament, that being our impending death, takes precedent. And, for that matter, negates all circumstantial Christmas-ness.” I realised that tirade had come off oddly formal, so I added: “So stop being a dope, you big blonde-haired nutter.”

The Doctor, annoyingly, did not look hurt. Or offended. She just shook her head, like I didn’t understand. “That’s not how it works. It doesn’t matter what’s happening. Could be right in the middle of wartime, could be disease and pestilence sweeping the globe, you could be separated from everyone you love. The Titanic could be falling out of the sky! But if any of those things are happening in December, you get to press pause on them for a little bit, and be happy. Because it’s Christmas, and Christmas is magic like that.”

Nice speech. It didn’t work. “You’re a child,” I said, turning back around.

We didn’t talk again for a while. I sat and sat and sat, and at some point I lay down, and at another point I fell asleep.

Hours later, I awoke to a veritable Winter Wonderland.

The Doctor had been busy through the night. She had gone all around the cave, drawing holly and garlands all over the walls. Three tiny knitted stockings were stuck to the hand drawn fireplace. She had carefully placed the different sweet wrappers around the candles, creating a fairylight-like effect of flickering red, green and gold all around. And as I sat up, she was in front of me, beaming.

“Happy Christmas!” she bellowed, and thrust a folded piece of kitchen roll in my face. I took it from her delicately, realising that it was only obscuring something folded within. “Sorry, no wrapping paper. Best I could do.”

I did my best attempt at a smile, given the still pretty awful circumstances, and opened the gift. I had expected to find some random object standing in as a gift. After all, there was hardly a Henrick’s or Magpie Electricals to pop to down here. So when I opened the paper and found two carefully knitted socks, I took me a second to put the pieces together. Finally though, I looked up at her in wonder.

“Is this why you kept asking for my shoe size?”

The Doctor grinned. “Got it in the end. Took a tape measure to your footprint.” She pointed at what I’d seen her messing with on the floor the previous night, an indentation in the mucky ground from my shoe.

That broke my Scrooge-ness. I could continue to be a misery no longer. I thanked the Doctor genuinely, pulled on my new socks, and allowed her to lead me around the cave and tell me in great detail how she had thrown together every single makeshift Christmas decoration. We played snap and charades, and then gathered around the illustrated roaring fireplace to tell ghost stories (the Doctor’s were better than mine).

“I wish I had a gift for you,” I lamented after our Christmas Dinner of raisins and half a Wham bar. The socks really were quite cosy.

The Doctor waved a hand and tried not to look bothered. “No worries. It’s not the getting at this time of year, it’s the giving. That’s what my Mam used to say.” She paused though, then added “But also, if you happened to pack a toothbrush in that suit, I’ll love you forever. It’s been a week.”

A thought struck me. I stood up and wandered over to my discarded OxySuit, and reached into the utility belt. “No toothbrush, sorry. But in the spirit of the season, I gift you the one thing in my possession and pray it brings you happiness and good fortune.” I produced the small roll of medical tape, and tossed it to her.

She did not catch it. She did not even make an attempt. The Doctor had gone dead still since the moment she saw me pull the tape out of the suit. The roll bounced off her tummy and then fell lamely to the floor. Here, she stared at it, eyes wide.

“Doctor?”

When she looked up, there was the biggest smile on her face. “Ellie Tyson, this might be the most important Christmas gift I’ve ever been given.” Then she rushed across the distance and flung her arms around me. “Do you even realise what you’ve done? You’ve saved our lives, you daft little human.”

I had no chance to question her further. The second she let me out of her death-clutch hug, she snatched up the roll of tape and went sprinting out of the cave. I followed her through the narrow passage as best I could, but she was faster than you’d think, and by the time I reached the wall at the end, she was bouncing up and down impatiently. “Come on, come on, come on,” she begged, and I quickly boosted her up onto the ledge and let her heave me up after her.

Back in the Silurian chamber, the Doctor rushed over to the nearest cryogenic pod and started messing with the controls.

“But you said we couldn’t wake them up!” I shouted.

“No time to explain,” she shouted back. “Try and find some sort of powder or talc, any type will do.”

As she pointed her metallic thingy at the pod, I searched all over until I found what was probably the lizard equivalent of baby powder in what was probably the lizard equivalent of a medicine cabinet. I came back to the Doctor to find one of the pod doors open. The Silurian was still completely unmoving, and the air coming from the pod was predictably ice cold.

“What are we doing?” I asked, handing her the bottle.

“Spy stuff,” was her reply. And then, teeth chattering from the cold, I watched her crouch down to be able to coat one of the Silurian’s finger tips in the powder. Then, taking my Christmas gift, she pressed the scale-covered finger into a piece of tape and applied pressure. “That should do it,” she said, and stood up straight again.

“Do what?” I said. Except, no. That wasn’t my voice who had said that. And it wasn’t the Doctor’s either.

It was the Silurian. He was blinking awake, groggy like he’d overslept. “What are we doing?” he asked, then squinted at what was surely a blurry sight of two strangers in front of him. “Who are you?”

“Nobody,” the Doctor squeaked, pressing a complicated sequence of buttons on the panel next to the pod. “We’re nobody. Go back to sleep. We’re just… ghosts. We’re the Ghosts of Christmas Yet To Come.”

The Silurian frowned. “…what’s Christmas?”

“Shush,” said the Doctor, and she quickly closed the door and zapped the controls with her metallic remote, and the Silurian was asleep again.

The Doctor pressed the borrowed fingerprint on the tape into the scanner on the console and it worked perfectly. We were directed to an area at the back of the chamber, where a steel compartment took us back to the surface with frightening speed. We emerged into sparkling daylight, finding ourselves on an island in the Philippines. Well, there are worse places to spend Christmas Day. The Doctor helped me find a phone, which I used to contact central command, who in turn got in touch with Cameron Base One and ordered a speedy evacuation. The Doctor made friends with an old man who had a submarine, and he said he would take her down to retrieve her Blue Box after he’d had his Christmas dinner.

While we waited for the old man to finish his afters, the Doctor and I sat on a beach overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I thought it to be the bluest blue I’d ever seen, but the Doctor said she’d seen blue-er.

“It’s going to be mental down there,” I said, thinking of Cameron Base One. “Everyone loading stuff into boxes, shutting down all the experiments. Must be chaos.”

The Doctor smiled, looking out at the point where, miles and miles below the water, there was a whole base of people packing up and heading home. “It won’t be that bad,” she said. “It will still be Christmas. They’ll make the best of it.”

#merry christmas ya filthy animals #doctor who #thirteenth doctor #jodie whittaker #revolution of the daleks

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